Trinity
by mercurybard
Summary: Illyria and Cordelia attempt to bring the boys back to life after they die in the alleyway during Not Fade Away. Gwen's pissed, the Slayer's arrival is imminent, and the gang really needs to find a new place to stay. AxC GunnxGwen. DISCONTINUED!
1. Chapter 1: Final Mercy

Disclaimer: _Angel_ belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

**A/N: This first chapter is rather short and not truly representative of the fic as a whole. I suggest reading chapter 2 before deciding whether or not to continue on. **

**Also, as of chapter 15, the pairings are: Angel x Cordy and Gunn x Gwen. **

-----

Illyria dropped the body to floor. If she had been a mortal creature, she might have grunted for exertion. But, she was not mortal and never had been. She supposed she should probably treat the corpse with more care, but it was dead, and there was little else she could think of that would damage it further. It was dead. Just like the rest of the bodies on the floor.

Actually, one of the bodies was still alive, sort of. One of the strange half-breeds moaned in pain as he tried to turn his head. The effort made the burns that covered his entire torso ooze. He would be dead within minutes. She knelt down beside him. "Do you wish me to slay you now?"

A feeble moan escaped his scorched lips. The fool had slain a dragon, but not before allowing it to burn him horribly.

She assumed the moan to be an affirmative and picked up the wooden stake she had procured for just this purpose. He turned his one remaining eye towards it and steeled himself as she plunged it into his still heart. There was no blood—just a small explosion of dust and then that was all that remained on the cold marble floor. Carefully, she swept the ash into a dustpan and deposited it into a cardboard box she had found behind the counter. It would not do for the remains of the half-breed to be scattered by a draft while she was trying to work.

She set the box down next to the body of her guide. Gently, she brushed a fingertip across his cold cheek. He had died bravely. She had felt a stirring at his passing. This bothered her.

A light filled the lobby of the Hyperion, and Illyria's head snapped up, her lips curling back into a snarl as she identified the source. If she had been mortal, the light would have blinded her, but she could clearly see the feminine shape at the heart of the glow…and the shell recognized it…


	2. Chapter 2: Blood and Ash

Disclaimer: _Angel_ belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

Author's Note: Sorry about the short first chapter, but it's hard to get into Illyria's head. She is the god-king of the primordial ooze after all! This one is more involved. Eventually, this will turn quite shippy, but I'm not going to tell who yet! Reviews, of course, are always welcome. They give me warm, fuzzy feelings.

-----

Cordelia Chase blinked twice as the light began to fade. Little dark spots skittered across her vision as she looked around. She was back, she realized, back in the lobby of the Hyperion. She moved to take a step forward and stopped when a low voice bellowed, "Halt!"

She looked up and saw Fred. Or rather, what had been Fred. The blue-haired woman glared at Cordy from across the lobby. "You are about to put your foot in the one called Spike."

Cordelia looked down and saw a small blue box like the kind bank's mailed your refill checks right at the hem of her white robe. She quickly took a step to the side. "So _you_ survived."

"Yes. Even in my weakened condition, I am still more powerful than the soldiers of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart," the demon-god replied without her usual haughtiness.

Cordelia had watched since her death, had seen Fred's spirit be destroyed, had seen this god-king of the primordial ooze move into what had once been her friend's body. It wasn't much of a surprise that Cordy didn't like Illyria. She folded her arms across her chest and returned the demon-god's glare. "And what about them? Is Angel in that other check box? What were you planning to do now?"

Illyria looked down at corpses at her feet. "I do not know. It did not seem right to leave them where they fell. I brought the half-breed called Angel in here so he would be at home when I gave him the final mercy. It seemed appropriate."

Cordelia blinked. She hadn't expected that, hadn't thought the demon possessed the compassion to think of such a little thing as bringing Angel in here to die, where he might be comforted by his surroundings. Suddenly, the realization that Angel was dead…all her friends were dead caught up with her, and she sat down hard on the lobby floor beside the check box holding Spike's remains. "Why'd the Powers bring me back if everybody's already dead?" she asked of no one in particular. "It was supposed to be simple you said! Angel was supposed to turn back on to the right path and would need a seer again. You said I was just supposed to come back and be the seer until I found someone else to pass the gift on to! Where the hell did everybody being dead come in to play?"

"You are mourning," the god-king informed her. The creature that had once been Fred crouched down in front of her. "You are a Higher Power and yet…" She one gloved hand and caught a tear that was trickling down Cordy's cheek on the tip of a finger. She placed the finger in her mouth, sucking the tear off on to her tongue. "You shed droplets of salty fluid. How is this so?"

"My friends are dead," Cordelia said as more tears flowed down her face.

"They were my companions as well. I have no peers—no one can match my power—but these…these creatures have a strange hold over me. A weak, emotional hold." Illyria sounded as if she were disgusted with the thought. She rose and walked back to stand by Gunn's head. "It will take much power," the god-king muttered to herself as she circled him. "It might permanently weaken me…it must be done." She dropped to her knees beside Gunn and sunk her hand into his gaping gut wound.

Cordelia's mouth dropped in horror as she watched the Old One at work. She tried to protest, but all that came out was a squeak.

Illyria looked up at her with those frighteningly inhuman eyes. "Do not fear. I do not desecrate his corpse. He was a most loyal creature. Perhaps, I have the strength to return him to himself."

Cordelia gulped and averted her eyes from where the demon had her arm up to the wrist in Gunn's stomach. "How do I help?" she asked, looking down at the spotless white robes that were the customary garb of Higher Powers when they visited the mortal plane.

Illryia continued on like she hadn't heard Cordelia's offer. "I will need the help of a she-creature. One with whom this mortal shared an emotional bond, the kind involved in mating. She will be the life-bringer to lure back the soul. I can restore the shell to functionality, but recalling the soul is beyond even my power. Odd, that a mortal will be able to do it."

Cordelia listened to the Old One talk to herself, surprised at how Fred-like the chatter was becoming as Illyria worked. At least, that's what Cordy assumed she was doing with the magic that was leaking from her hand and into Gunn's abdominal cavity. She could _feel_ the power leaking from the demon to the corpse. She hadn't been able to do that before…when she had come back possessed by the creature that had been named 'Jasmine', but then she had been trapped, a prisoner in her own body, unable to do anything to help her friends as Jasmine attempted to take over the world. It had been horrible to watch, like a slideshow of the Holocaust that went on for hours and hours while you just sat there, wanting to turn away but unable to. She shuddered a little at the thought.

After what seemed like an eternity—and might well have been since Higher Powers didn't wear watches and there were no clocks left in the Hyperion—Illyria withdrew her hand from Gunn's torso. The wound closed up behind her, and Gunn began to breathe.

Cordelia rushed over and threw her arms around the prone street thug-turned-lawyer. "Gunn! Wake up!" she said, shaking his shoulders.

"The shell is animated, but the soul has not returned," Illyria said absently as she held her bloody arm in front of her. She was looking at it as if Gunn's blood was the most fascinating thing in the world. A red droplet was about to fall to the floor, but the demon stuck out her tongue and caught it like a child would catch a snowflake.

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "So, Gunn's breathing but nobody's home?"

"I have summoned the life-bringing she-creature. She will come and call the soul back to the body."

"Who?"

"The one who has done so before. The shell has memories of this one dying." This time, when the god-king said 'shell', Cordy realized that she meant Fred. "The life-bringer restored him. She will do it again."

"And what if she can't?"

Illyria didn't answer but walked over to the check box that Cordy assumed held Angel's ashes. The blue-haired demon said down on the floor and crossed her legs in front of her. Then, with a formal deliberateness, she removed the lid from the box and stuck a finger in. Gunn's blood ran down her arm, propelled by more than gravity, and spilled across the dust. "This will take more energy. He has been dead a long time." Those freaky blue eyes looked up at Cordelia. "You will become bored."

"Ok…" Cordy stood and dusted her hands off on the robes. It left little smudges on the pure white cloth, but she didn't care. All the purity and light had been making her teeth ache anyways. "I guess I'll just poke around for a bit."

The downstairs of the hotel had been stripped—the weapons' cabinet emptied, the books in the office gone, even the pouf had been taken. The only things that were left were…junk. She found the checks Illyria had dumped out of the little boxes that were now serving as coffins for Spike and Angel. The name on the top of the checks was Wesley's, and Cordelia felt more tears leak down her cheeks as she put them back under the front desk. There was a Polaroid stuck between the shelf and the front of the desk. She pulled it out and bit her lip as she looked down at a picture of herself cradling an infant Connor in her arms. It must be one of the ones Angel had taken when they'd brought Connor home from the hospital. _He was such a cute baby_, she said, petting the pictured baby's cheek with the tip of her fingernail. A tear dripped off her cheekbone and landed on the white part that edged the photographed.

Reluctantly, she stood, holding the Polaroid in her hand. She didn't want to put it down, but there weren't any pockets in this ridiculous getup. "First project: find real clothes." She paused and wrinkled her nose, "I'm talking to myself?" What were the odds that Angel had left any of her old things here? Probably not very good, but she went upstairs anyway and began going through the rooms the Fang Gang had once inhabited. Everything was gone. The place had been pretty trashed when Jasmine's followers had all tried moving in, she knew, and then Angel and the others had moved to Wolfram & Hart. He must have sent a cleaning team back to get there stuff and generally pick up the place. The furniture had been left behind, and most of it was covered with white dust covers. She found the room she and Connor had lived in when she was pregnant with Jasmine. Just looking around the room made her shutter, and she closed the door and quickly headed down the hall, trying to put as much room as possible between her and the bad memories.

Eventually, her wanderings took her down into the basement. The cage they had built to contain Angelus still stood in the corner, the door open. She closed it and turned away. The washer and dryer sat in the corner, and, on a whim, she peaked inside and almost squealed with delight when she saw that someone had left a load in the dryer. Quickly, she pulled the clothes out and spread them out across the top of the appliances. It looked like a mix of Connor, Angel, and Fred clothing. Somebody must have done a little tidying before the move to the evil law firm. Quickly, she stepped out of the thin-soled white velvet slippers and shucked her robes, letting them lay on the cold concrete floor. Fred was so much smaller than Cordy had ever been, even in high school, but her undergarments were the only ones in the building, so Cordy wiggled into the too-small panties and decided to go braless. She pulled on a pair of Angel's black trousers, rolling them at the waist for they weren't too long, and then used a bit of clothesline she found on the floor as a belt. Then, she tossed one of Connor's baggy, nondescript long-sleeved shirts down. It covered the mess around her waist, but she still felt like a bag lady. Shopping was definitely in order. Unfortunately, she didn't have any money, and she doubted the demon upstairs carried a wallet.

As she leaned against the dryer, hugging one of Angel's black t-shirts to her chest, the basement door banged open, and Illyria appeared at the top of the stairs. "I require more human blood."

"I don't know how human I am," Cordy said as she picked up the Polaroid and headed up the stairs, still carrying the t-shirt, "But you can have some of mine."

"Your blood has more human properties than mine," the demon-god assured her as she led Cordy across the lobby. Gunn still lay unmoving with a check box on one side and Wes's corpse on the other, and next to Wes…

"Angel!" Cordy shrieked as she flung herself across the room at the naked body of the vampire that now lay where the check box-coffin had been only a half hour before. Even as she did so, she knew he was just a body without a spirit, but she couldn't stop herself from hugging him.

"It was an effort to restore his body," Illyria said as she moved to the other check box, "But his leadership is needed."

Cordy wasn't listening as she clutched Angel tightly to her. It took her a minute to realize that he was… "He's breathing!" she exclaimed as she let go of him. He flopped back and smacked his head against the marble floor. "Oh, dear." She pulled him back up by the shoulders, he head lolling back like an infant's. "I'm sorry," she apologized needlessly as she felt the back of his head for a lump. There was a little bit of one that mad her wince as she felt it.

"I could not restore the body to its formerly dead state," Illyria explained. "Now, your blood is required."

Reluctantly, Cordy lowered Angel's head to the floor—gently this time—and stood. It didn't seem quite right to leave him lying there naked, so she carefully arranged the t-shirt over his, uh…manhood.

Illyria offered her a dagger as she came over. Cordy didn't want to know where the demon had found it. Swallowing, she drew the blade across her lower arm and let the blood trickle into the check box. It damped the little mounds of Spike-dust and welled around them. "That is sufficient," Illyria said after a few moments. She squatted down and inserted a finger.

Cordy nodded and retreated, setting the bloody dagger down on the front desk. She didn't want to leave Angel and Gunn, even if it wasn't really them, but she also didn't want to stay here and watched Illyria work. She fled back to the basement and the raw memories there.


	3. Chapter 3: Not PutTogether

Disclaimer: _Angel_ belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

Author's Note: This is not the chapter 3 I wanted to write. Unfortunately, the original chapter 3 was going to contain a character I haven't heard in a while and so she's not speaking to me at the moment. So, until I drive 1200 miles to get to where my DVDs are stashed, there probably won't be any updates. Sorry folks. Oh, and thanks to LivvyWriter, Hope71, charmedbabywyatt, Windfred's Man, and ShinodaBear for the reviews! They mean a lot to me, and I can't wait to see if you like this chapter as well.

**"Ah, the vampire with a soul, once he fulfills his destiny, will Shanshu. Become human. It's his reward. "- Wes, "To Shanshu in L.A."**

Cordy looked around at her surroundings and tried to remember the last time she'd set foot in a mall. Good Lord, had it really been almost two years? She blinked in shock at the very thought. She used to live and breathe shoes. Now, she was all with the higher purpose and whatnot. While that was all well and good, a woman couldn't live on left-in-the-dryer castoffs alone…which is why she'd filched Wes's wallet out of the pocket of his coat and hightailed it to the nearest ATM. His password was the same one he'd used when they had worked together at Angel Investigations, back at the beginning when it was just the two of them and Angel in the little tiny office. Post-Doyle, pre-Hyperion Hotel. Back when Gunn wasn't even a paid employee, just a street kid who sometimes helped out. Now, Gunn was a living but soulless corpse laying on the hotel lobby floor. Maybe this wasn't the time for shopping…

Fred's borrowed underwear riding up her butt erased that thought clean from her mind. First stop, Victoria's Secret for bras and panties. They had come out with some cute things while she'd been dead—though she couldn't see what could be so scientifically amazing about an IPEX that you'd want to pay almost fifty dollars for one. Trying on a regular black bra in the dressing room, she looked in the mirror at her new body. So many changes since the last time she had come back: her breasts were larger thanks to the Jasmine pregnancy and there were a few more scars here and there. But it was still recognizably her, thank God. She ran a hand through her hair, which was now long, brown, and ever so slightly curling again like she had worn it in high school when she had been Queen C, scourge of the nerdy and the badly dressed. That was before Xander and the Scoobies, before Angel, before Wes and Gunn and Fred, before Connor and Jasmine, and now Illyria. An errant tear trickled down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly. She was not going to get caught crying in a public dressing room. Hurriedly changing back into the clothes she'd come in, she went out to make her purchases.

By the time she left the mall two hours later, she had a greasy meal of food court pizza in her stomach and arms weighed down with shopping bags. Another taxi delivered her to the Hyperion's front gate. She hurried in quickly, wanting to change into one of her new purchases, hoping it would make her feel a little more put-together.

Fours breathing bodies greeted her when she walked in. Now, Wes's chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of a living person. Illyria had still been working on him when Cordelia left. The blue-haired demon had seemed to be struggling with it, for some reason. Cordy crouched down beside the former Watcher, her packages falling to the floor in all directions, and tenderly traced a finger along his stubbly jaw. When had her friend turned into this rough stranger? _When he lost both you and Fred_, something whispered inside of her. She fought back another tear as she stood. There was nothing she could do for him now, except wait and hope that whatever Illyria had done would work.

The god-king was no where to be seen as Cordy made her way up the stairs with her bags and let herself into Angel's old room. A suite, it was one of the larger ones on the second floor. It also didn't have any bad memories attached to it for her…not like the room she had shared with Connor did. Stripping, she then pulled out her purchases and laid them out on the queen-sized bed. It didn't take long for her to decide on a pink bra and panty set, a black tank top, and a pair of stretchy black pants.

Clothes taken care of, she took the Polaroid of baby Connor out of the pocket of Angel's trousers and leaned it against the lamp on the bedside lamp. Wes's driver's license went next to it along with a small picture of Fred that Wes carried in his wallet. The driver's license photo was two or three years old and showed a clean shaven Wesley trying to look tough for the camera and failing miserably. Fred's picture was clipped from a larger one. She was wearing the dress and wrap she'd worn the night they had all gone to the ballet together. Cordy pushed aside the clothes and laid down the edge of the bed, looking at her friends…her family. She missed them all horribly. "I want things to be back the way they were," she murmured as she reached out to touch the Fred picture, "Right before the ballet—when Gunn and Wes were still buddies and Connor was still a little baby and Angel and I…" The tears came then; there was no way to stop them. She sobbed into her pillow, and, after a while, she cried herself to sleep.

When she awoke, the sky outside had turned black, and the streetlights were filling the room with a sickly yellow glow. She slid off the bed and padded her way to the door, opening it slowly. Then, as if she were in a trance, she made her way down the second floor hall and then down the stairs to the lobby. The Hyperion was eerily silent. The only sounds were the soft whooshing of the air conditioning and the distant rumble of LA traffic out beyond the walls and windows. Illyria was no where in sight, some small part of Cordelia's brain noted, but the majority of her focus was on Angel. He still lay there, on the marble floor, covered only by the t-shirt. In the dim lighting, his pale skin seemed to glow. He was the only one she saw as she crossed the floor. At some point, she must have stepped over Gunn, but she didn't notice as she sank down beside Angel. Her eyes felt dry and swollen from crying, and she didn't have any more tears to shed as she lifted his head and shoulders up from the cold floor and cradled them in her arms. She held him to her breast—the breasts that had grown larger carrying a child that she have been _his_ child and not his son's—and pressed her face against the top of his head.

"Angel," she whispered, her voice cracking with sorrow at all the opportunities they had missed and would never have again, "I love you."

He gave a tremendous sigh and looked down to see his dark eyelashes fluttering. A second later, those eyelashes parted, and he looked up at her with brown eyes full of confusion. "Cordy?"

"Angel!" She squeezed him harder as a thrill rushed through her—he was alive!

"Uh…Cordy…need to…" he gasped. She realized she was choking him and loosened her grip. "…breathe?" He looked down in amazement at his own chest and watched it rise and fall rhythmically for a second. "I'm breathing…" He put his hand over his heart, and Cordelia watched the amazement cross his face as he realized he now had a heart beat. "My heart's beating! What's going on? Is…is this the Shanshu?"


	4. Chapter 4: Gave It All Away

Disclaimer: _Angel_ belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

Author's Note: Thanks to –J and ShinodaBear for the reviews. In case you're curious, there's another fic by me running parallel to this one called "Dea Ex Machina". It focuses on some of the other characters affected by the events of "Not Fade Away" like Lorne and Lindsey. As for this chapter, it was disgustingly hard to write. Making Angel and Cordy jive isn't easy, babes…maybe that's why they never got together on the show. Please review this chapter and let me know how I did. :bites her nails:

"**Well, even without a flight plan, bucko, you are still a stealth bomber." –Lorne, "The House Always Wins"**

"My heart is beating! What's going on? Is…is this the Shanshu?"

"I don't know—probably," Cordelia answered, "Though it means that, once again, we've been interpreting it _wrong_."

"What? Why?" He pulled away and scooted back some. Then, she realized with a stifled giggle, he noticed that the only thing saving him from being completely naked was the shirt she had so casually tossed over him earlier. "Er…what happened to my clothes?"

"You were dead, Angel—like ash. Illyria had all of you in a little box that Wesley's checks came in," Cordy explained. She frowned, "What happened to the box?"

Angel pulled the squashed box out from underneath him. She couldn't help but giggle then. He tossed the box away. "What do you mean, if this is the Shanshu, then we interpreted the prophecy wrong? I thought if I fulfilled my destiny, then I'd get to be human—I took down the Circle of the Black Thorn and here I am, human. What is there is misinterpret?"

"Well, for one, Spike's human too." She pointed over to where the blond vampire lay naked on the floor only a few feet away. "And, for another, I know you're destiny hasn't been fulfilled since the Powers That Be sent me back to help you get yourself straightened out so you can fulfill it."

"Spike…Spike's human too? How could he possibly deserve the Shanshu?"

Cordy rolled her eyes. "Maybe because he's fought just as hard and just as bravely for good as you have—the whole averting the apocalypse by sacrificing himself in Sunnydale thing." She grabbed hold of Angel's face with both hands and turned his head so she could look him in the eye. "You are missing the point, bucko. You have more work to do, so why don't you go upstairs and get dressed. I'll wait down here for you." She kissed him tenderly on the lips. He tried to deepen the kiss, and, as much as she wanted to, she refused to let him, pulling back. "I mean it—work. Now move!"

He stood awkwardly, trying to hold the shirt in front of himself as he retreated backwards up the stairs. Part way up, his heel caught on a step, and he sat down hard. She ducked her head, hoping he wouldn't be able to hear her giggling. When she lifted it again, he was gone.

She rose and moved to sit on the pouf.

"_I have summoned the life-bringing she-creature. She will come and call the soul back to the body."_

Illyria's words echoed in her head. "'Life-bringing she-creature'," Cordelia repeated out loud, "Not the most flattering of titles, though I'm glad I was able to bring Angel back. I wonder why it wasn't Buffy. I mean, wasn't their love supposed to transcend the ages or some crap like that? He's human now, so, yeah, soul intact and not going anywhere…lots and lots of guilt-free boinking if they wanted it." _But, it wasn't Buffy, it was me, and all I had to do was tell Angel that I loved him._ She leaned her chin on her hand. Obviously, the Powers hadn't given her the whole scoop before they sent her back. How typical of them…

Angel coming back down stairs roused her from her reverie. He had found the pair of his slacks that she'd worn pre-shopping spree as well as the plaid shirt she'd bought for him. Angel in plaid…now there was a sight she'd never thought she'd see even though it had always been on her "Angel Shanshus To-Do" list, right before taking him to the beach to get a tan because, you know, deathly pallor only looks good on the dead. "This better?" he asked as he reached the bottom step.

"Much." She patted the pouf, and he came and sat down next to her. "So, tell me what was up with the kamikaze attack on the Circle of the Black Thorn? Because, yeah, not really seeing the genius there."

"It was supposed to be one big, final blow against evil," he explained, looking down at his hands. They were the same hands that he'd had when she'd visited him at Wolfram & Hart right before she died—the calluses, the scars—they were all there. Illyria had recalled him exactly as he had been before he died…except for the whole dead part. "If we took out the Circle…"

"Evil would continue on, exactly as it has since the beginning of time," Cordelia interjected. "You may have tipped the balance _a little_, but trust me, evil will recover disgustingly soon. No, Angel, I think you had other reasons for throwing yourself on the stake…so to speak." She brushed a soothing hand over his brow. She didn't know the whole story, but she knew Angel. Knew him so well that he couldn't hide from her, even when he was trying to hide from himself. That was why she had gone to Wolfram & Hart, to try and warn him that he was headed down a path she couldn't see the end of. That's why she'd pleaded with the Powers so strongly to get the chance to come back this time. He really was lost without her.

Angel took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. "It's all been spiraling away from me…everything…ever since I lost Connor. When Wes stole him and gave him to Holtz, I thought I was going to die. And then he came back, but not as my little baby boy, you know? But as this kid who wanted to kill me. Me—his own dad." He dropped her hand and looked across the lobby. "I thought Wes's betrayal was the worst I'd ever experience. He died horribly, didn't he?"

Cordy couldn't look at the fallen Watcher, his torso covered in blood that she knew had to be his own. "I don't know. I missed the end—your attempt to bring on your own stupid little apocalypse. But, yeah, I take it that there was general badness all around." She put a hand on Angel's knee and squeezed it. "I bet Connor and I, or rather that bitch who took over my body, managed to one-up him in the betrayal department."

Angel nodded.

She felt her cheeks go warm just at the memory of it. "Listen, Angel, I can't say how sorry I am that about everything that happened. You have to know that I would _never_ sleep with Connor unless something icky took control of me—he's like a son to me. I changed his diapers, for Pete's sake!"

"I know." But he still wouldn't look at her, and that hurt more than anything.

After a few moments of awkward silence, she squeezed his knee again. "Hey, you never finished telling me about your oh, so brilliant plan."

"Fred was dead, Cordy." He finally turned back to her, and the look on his face was so lost, so broken, so desperate that it nearly broke her heart. "Wes was trying so hard to drink himself into joining her. You were gone. Gunn wasn't Gunn anymore—he'd turned himself into a lawyer lackey. He betrayed Fred, Cordy—_Fred—_so he could keep his head full of legal nonsense, then he sentenced himself to hell to try and make up for it. I didn't realize it until I was sitting in his hospital room, giving him the same damn atonement speech that I'd given Faith…that I gave myself every single damn day…I didn't realize until then how screwed up everything had gotten."

She slid over on the pouf and into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him to her as tightly as she could. "People change," she whispered comfortingly, wishing she could take his pain away and knowing that she couldn't. This was his pain, his cross to bear, and he would have to deal with it.

"Not like this," he murmured into the side of her neck. "Not like this—they wouldn't have changed like that if I hadn't led them into Wolfram & Hart."

"They chose to go too. You may have led them, but any of them could have said "No, not me" and walked away."

"Cordy, _I gave my son away_…" Then the dam broke, and he began to sob into her neck, soaking her hair with his tears, and all she could do was hold him and let him cry.


	5. Chapter 5: The Tug

Disclaimer: _Angel_ belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

Author's Note: Thank you, faythslayer for the review! This is a short chapter, I know, but it's another Illyria one.

**Fred: "You're right about all of it except for one thing. What we did, I felt it. Every bit of it. And, you know, sometimes when I allow myself to think about it, it eats me up inside."  
Gunn: "Yeah, me, too."  
Fred: "Well, I don't know about you, but...I'd take that over being a shell any day." -****-from "Sacrifice"**

Illyria, God-King of the Primordium, lay on the floor of the third floor hall where she had collapsed. To one who did not know of her mighty power, it might look as if she were ill or wounded. She was neither. Even the wounds inflicted by the servants of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart had healed. Not even the vast amounts of energy she had expended to resurrect her four fallen comrades was enough to exhaust her. At least, that is what she assured herself.

No, she had chosen to fall when she first felt the metaphysical tugging in her gut. It took her only seconds to trace the psychic link from her abdomen to the heart of Wesley's shell. Each beat of his restored heart caused a twinge in her gut. She laid a hand over place where he tugged at her and scowled. She had been most reluctant to breathe life into his body for just this reason. His ties to this shell of hers were strong, despite that they had been formed of such a weak emotion as love.

Another twinge and this one was like real pain. She sucked in a startled gasp. His soul must desperately be search for some remains of the shell's spirit in her. Such efforts were futile…all scraps of the woman who had possessed the shell prior to Illyria had been obliterated by the coming of the god-king.

She pressed herself harder against the dusty, plush-ness of the carpet, trying to sink into it. The fibers brushed against her, and her mind clung to the tactile anchor. She once ruled all she surveyed with an iron fist—she would not succumb to the tugging of one pathetic mortal soul.


	6. Chapter 6: The Thief

Disclaimer: _Angel_ belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not me.

Author's Note: Thanks to demonwithasoul for the review. Sorry about the delay…I've been somewhat distracted lately with the moving and the SCA and the husband and the stuff. So, here we go again. Oh, and if you haven't checked out my other _Angel_ fic, "Dea Ex Machina", I suggest you do—things have just gotten **very** interesting over there.

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

"**Gunn, I already apologized for killing you. What do you want? A wake?" –Gwen, "Long Day's Journey"**

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

Gwen Raiden stepped out of the cab and looked up at the building looming over her. The Hyperion Hotel had been built to look Spanish-y with yellow painted walls and arches that came to a point at the top. "Classy-looking place, if a bit exposed," she muttered.

"What?" the cabbie called from inside the car. "It's twenty-three, fifty-nine." He held his hand out the window, palm up, waiting for his fare.

The thief looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. "Keep the meter running—I'm not staying long."

She didn't stay long enough to hear his response but sashayed up the steps. It was late, the flight had made her a little queasy, and she still didn't know _why_ she was in L.A. again. Didn't know why she had felt this terrible urge all of a sudden to buy a ticket for the red-eye from Taipei to come back here. She hadn't set foot in this town since the Beast had blocked out the sun—hadn't seemed real healthy for anyone to stick around. Sure, Angel and his crew had gotten that situation fixed right up, but the City of Angels still made her want to twitch.

Gwen pushed open the gate and headed up to the front door. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the door's glass and paused to check her lipstick. Fire engine red, of course. Her taste in clothes and makeup hadn't changed much in a year. Her hair had, perhaps, a few more unnaturally bright red streaks mingling with the dark curls. She wasn't wearing leather pants for once—not the most comfortable things on a plane—but rather stretchy black jeans that hugged her ass tighter than leather possibly could. Over that was a red, long-sleeved, leather top decorated with a plethora of non-functioning zippers. Her gloves were black silk (silk made an excellent insulator) and disappeared up her sleeves. The lipstick looked fine.

She shoved open the door and let herself into the hotel. The air inside smelled musty, as if it had been abandoned for a while. The lights were off as well, and, for a moment, she considered going back outside. There didn't look to be anybody home. Figured. She's flown all the way from Taiwan to see Angel, and he wasn't here.

Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she removed a slim penlight and clicked it on. She swept the narrow beam of light ahead of her as she descended the carpet stairs to the lobby's marble floor. The low heel on her boots clicked as she started across the lobby in the direction of the desk.

She stopped suddenly when her tiny light flickered across a foot. The foot was attached to a leg clothed in khaki cargo pants that had definitely seen better days. They were torn, blood-covered, and…scorched? She moved the light up the body, over a gray hoodie that was in about as good a shape as the cargo pants. Finally, the light came to rest on the ebony skin of a young man she knew very well. His eyes were closed, and if he was breathing, she couldn't tell.

"Damn it, Denezel," she hissed as she dropped down to her knees and reached out two fingers to feel for the pulse in his throat. It was there—she could barely feel it through the fingers of her gloves, but it was there. She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

The lights clicked on.

Gwen through up a hand to shield her eyes as she blinked furiously.

"I told you there was someone down here." The voice was loud, masculine, and sort of whiny—definitely Angel's. The spots cleared from her vision, revealing him standing about halfway down the curving stairs, shirtless. His hair was gel-free for the first time ever that she'd seen but still stuck up straight. Given his cat-that-swallowed-the-cream look, she'd have to say that it was bed head and not a styling choice.

"Well, who is it?" a female voice demanded from the top of the stairs, just out of sight.

"Gwen!" Angel called out to her, bounding down the rest of the stairs. He was barefoot, she had the chance to notice, before he hopped over Gunn's prone body and scooped her up in a spine-cracking hug.

"Hey, big boy, nice to see you too," she gasped. "You'd better be thankful I'm wearing long sleeves, otherwise you'd be…" She paused as she felt something through the leather of her top. They were squeezed so tight together that she could feel him breathing and his heart… "Since when do you have a heartbeat?"

He lowered her to the floor; a big, sloppy grin on his chiseled face. "I'm human!"

He reached for her again, but Gwen stepped back out of reach, tripping over something and going down hard on her ass. "Damn it!" she swore. She looked down at what she'd stumbled over and found that it was another unconscious man, this one blond, naked, and gifted with a yummy body. "You want to tell me what's going on here?"

Angel offered her a hand up. "Things…got a little complicated."

She let him help her up, giving a look back at the blond—yummy but not really her taste. Beside him, the English dude that had gotten between Gunn and his girl lay at the end of the row, just as out as the other two. "If you're not a freak anymore, then I'd say so."

"Careful touching her, Angel," the female voice said, this time from nearer by. "You may be human now, but she's still a freak."

Gwen glanced past the former vampire towards the stairs. Cordelia, the bottle blonde who'd been making Angel's heart go pitter-patter, was standing at the bottom landing, in nothing more than a man's plaid shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her knees. "Nice to see you again too." The tone of Gwen's voice made it clear that she was feeling anything but nice.

"Wait, wait, wait," Angel said, putting a hand on Gwen's shoulder and holding out the other in Cordelia's direction. "Cordy, this is Gwen."

Cordelia folded her arms over her breasts, which had grown since the last time they'd seen each other. Implants, maybe? Gwen had always figured big boobs would be a hindrance given her profession, but some people were just shallow enough.

"Gwen, this is Cordelia Chase," Angel continued his little introduction.

Gwen took that step back, this time avoiding the naked blond. "Angel, we've met before."

"Actually, you haven't. Cordy, you see, was possessed by a demon goddess for a while, which just so happened to be when we all had that little run-in with the Beast and the Ra-tet."

"I was still aware," the other woman protested. She stepped down off the final step and crossed the lobby to put her arm around Angel's waist. "I also saw the two of you and that little Axis incident."

He bent down and planted a kiss on the top of her head, which was now covered in long, curly, dark mahogany brown hair. Her natural color maybe. Surely not? "Just wanted to tell her so she wouldn't hold anything you said then against you."

Cordelia turned a withering glare on him.

"Nice move, Angel, way to enrage the lady post-coitus," Gwen said, giving him a lazy smile. "Six points for effort, one point for style." She unzipped one of the zippers on the back of her sleeve and peeled it back. Her glove stopped right before the elbow but had slid down at some point since coming into the hotel. She pulled it back up. "She's right you know—I still am a freak. If I wasn't wearing a shirt with long sleeves and gloves, you would be toast, and while I can jump start a heart, we both know from experience that girlfriends tend not to take kindly to me killing their men."

"I thought you stole a doohickey that stopped that." Poor Angel looked confused.

"I do, but it's just a prototype—I like to save it for special occasions." She flavored the word "special" with a sly, flirty smile, just to get under Cordelia's skin.

It worked. The now-brunette huffed. "So what are you doing here anyway, Gwen?"

"Actually," Gwen said, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, "I was hoping you could tell me."


	7. Chapter 7: Starting a Chevy

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_.

Author's Note: Cordelia's POV…don't ask me why. I usually avoid 1st person like the plague. I know this has been a long time coming, but I've been having medical issues including problems with my memory. Sorry.

-----

**Gwen: "Okay, then. I'll take Denzel."  
Gunn: "Actually, it's Gunn. Not that I mind the freakishly accurate comparison but you will keep your hands to yourself." --"Long Day's Journey"**

-----

Angel sat Gwen the Thief down on the poof and started to explain. She listened intently to the first two minutes of his explanation, then realizing that this was going to take awhile, hopped up and ran outside to dismiss the cab she had had waiting for her. Maybe, if Angel had stuck to the basic outline of what she had missed since the last time she butted into our lives, she could have left in the cab. But he didn't. Perhaps all the talking and crying and loving we had done together over the past two days since I'd brought him back made him want to share _everything_. Maybe just being human again did it.

I watched them, seated on the bottom step, having put on a pair of jeans underneath Angel's borrowed shirt. Gwen was her usual Super Tramp self—no big surprises there—but Angel… It's mind-boggling to witness what suddenly being human can do to a man. Or maybe it's that he just got laid for the first time in…what? Three years? No, wait, there had been a werewolf while he worked at Wolfram & Hart. Somehow he'd gotten the bright idea that if he didn't _love_ the woman then everything would be fine. They'd just date and sleep together and everything would be peachy. Yeah right, like that would ever work. She probably spent all her time with him wondering just what was so wrong with her that he didn't think he could ever love her. And, if he did, well there's more Angel Tragic Badness for you. The boy seems to just love chasing after disaster and tragedy.

I leaned back and let my gaze wander up to the shadowed ceiling of the hotel. Take here, the Hyperion for example. The first time he stayed here, a mob tried to hang him. The second time he came around, there was a paranoia demon and then a big nasty portal in the middle of the lobby (which, I would like to point out was entirely his doing) and then Jasmine the Evil Bitch Goddess used this as ground zero for her hippie-dippie love-everyone campaign. Now he's back here _again_, having just died, and showing absolutely no interest in leaving. Personally, if it were me making the decision, I'd think about relocating to Paris. Or maybe New York. If we left now, we'd get there just in time for fashion week. There's just too much bad magical karma built up here, and Angel's never been good about building up good vibes. Too much angst and broodiness.

"Ok, I get that she brought you back by confessing her undying love to you," Gwen said, "But what's that got to do with me?"

That would be my cue to pay attention. I sat back up and looked over at the thief, noticing not for the first time that her hair would actually look rather nice if she didn't put those tacky streaks in it. I'm pretty sure the curl is natural. Now that I think about it, I'm starting to notice a little pattern here with the girls Angel goes for. Either they're blond and Trouble or have brown hair. Darla and Buffy go in the first category; Gwen and I (as reluctant as I am to lump myself in with her about anything) go in the second. Huh. Well, at least he's broken his blond habit. After the whole Darla thing, it was getting pretty ridiculous—meet a blond, go crazy in love with her, and nearly doom the whole damn world in the process.

Back on topic. "Illyria said that'd each of the guys would need a…oh, what'd she call it? 'Life-bringing she-creature'—that's it—to bring them back to life. Obviously, I was Angel's." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he was looking at me and flashed him a brilliant smile. So he might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but I'm sort of crazy about him. When Jasmine set up that betrayal with Connor and _my_ body, I wanted to move Heaven and Earth to explain to him that it wasn't me. Hell, I would have if the Powers hadn't put the kibosh on anything I tried to do. Moronic immortal politics.

Gwen looked down at the three guys still stretched out on the lobby floor. I'd thrown on a sheet over Spike so I wouldn't have to see his pasty naked hotness every time I walked through the lobby for something, but other than that they were exactly the same as when Illyria had finished with them.

"Well, him I don't even know," she said, touching Spike's shoulder with the toe of her shoe. "That's the British dude who helped us with the whole Beast problem, and then there's Denzel. I'm not in love with any of them."

Angel's brow wrinkled, and I could practically see the gears turning in his brain. "Maybe it doesn't have to be love. Maybe it's just got to be a woman that they know pretty well." He turned to look at me, to see if I had anything to contribute. Angel looking to me expectantly, for advice. My heart did a little flutter over the shock of it—usually I had to hit him over the head with logic and reason.

Unfortunately, I didn't have any good answers for him on this. "I don't know—it's not a form of magic I'm familiar with. Illyria's old—she spent thousands of years asleep in the Deeper Well before being awakened—so it makes sense that some of the things she can do have gone out of fashion. And what's with the 'Denzel' thing?"

Gwen shrugged again. "He's black; he's good-looking."

Please tell me this wasn't Gunn's intended "life bringer". The guy deserved better than this. He deserved a great romance that would defy death and the ages—the kind Angel supposedly had had with Buffy, though without the almost-apocalypse. Gunn was only human, but he'd put his ass on the line every day of his damn life for _years_. I'm a little fuzzy on how long he was living out on the streets before Angel hired him, but I'm guessing at least a couple of years. And he lost his baby sister out there. But instead of some nice, sweet girl he apparently got a thief who'd fled the country when things got a little rough in LA even though she has powers that just might have been useful. Where's the justice in that?

"Could you just try…please?" Angel asked her, locking eyes with her. It was the puppy dog look. It doesn't work on me, but that doesn't mean it lacks complete effectiveness.

Gwen shifted uncomfortably and then squatted down beside Gunn. Leaning over, so her mouth was close to his unhearing ear, her hair falling forward to shield her face, she said, "Um…I love you?"

Gunn's chest rose and fell just as rhythmically as it had been ever since Illyria had thrust her hand into it. Just remembering the sight of the god-king up to her elbow in Gunn's entrails made the bile rise up in my throat, leaving a nasty taste at the back of my mouth. I let out a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding. Of course it hadn't worked—Gwen had said it herself, she wasn't in love with him. A certain amount of sincerity has to be included for stuff like this to work. This was beyond retarded—Miss Super Tramp was probably going to be Gunn's only hope to get his soul back. If she couldn't do it, then I'd hate to think of what we'd be forced to do. Either hook him up to life support at some hospital somewhere (which, having had my body go through that isn't something I'd wish on my worst enemy…ok, maybe I would, but only if they'd really done something to piss me off. Jasmine, for instance, I would be perfectly willing to consign to a coma if she weren't dead.) or let him die. We just couldn't leave him on the floor of the lobby forever.

I rested my forehead on my knee, trying to remember what exactly Ancient One had said as she'd brought him back. "Illyria said that Fred had memories of Gunn dying…" I said slowly, trying to recall the conversation. "She said that it would be the one who brought him back that time would be able to it again."

Gwen raised one gloved hand. "That would be me—back when we were all trying to get the Axis. I zapped him to get his heart going again."

"After you stopped it," Angel muttered, but not too grudgingly. I suppose when you've lived for over three hundred years and have been through as much craziness as he has, things like life and death start to look a little different. Sure, Miss Super Tramp may have electrocuted Gunn, but since she brought him back, it was ok, at least in his eyes. Personally, I was wondering why Fred had gone after her with Gunn's battle ax.

"Maybe that's all he needs," Gwen said slowly as she reached up and began to peel the glove off her right hand, "Another good shock." She looked to Angel as if seeking approval.

He just shrugged, but there was hope suddenly in his expression that hadn't been there a second before.

"Tell me you're not thinking of electrocuting him again!" I cried, not quite believing the direction this conversation was going. "We just brought him back to life! You're not going to kill him!" I was on my feet and had taken two steps in her direction before I realized what I was doing.

Angel put out a hand to stop me. "Cordy…let her try. We don't have many other options, and we can't just leave him like this." His dark eyes pleaded with me.

I just stared down at him, letting him know with the look on my face just **how** much I did not like this brilliant little idea of theirs. I like my friends alive, thank you very much. But Angel did have a point. Right now, Gunn wasn't really alive, and we couldn't just leave him like this. "All right," I said after a moment, sinking down to my knees across the black man's body from the female thief. "Do it." I took Gunn's wrist in both of my hands, feeling his pulse underneath my fingertips.

Gwen nodded and shook her bare hand like you'd shake a flashlight when the batteries had started to go. Little bits of static electricity danced up her fingers. With her other hand, she yanked on the remnants of Gunn's shirt, exposing the skin above his heart. Happy that she had a charge, she brought the hand down on his pect with slap that echoed across the lobby. Gunn's body buckled as she pumped electricity into him, the current making his pulse surge under my fingers. For a moment, it raced wildly, panicking, then began to fade. She pulled back and slapped her hand down again. His pulse surged again…and fell into a regular rhythm.

Gunn's eyes flew open.

Looking over him at me, Gwen flashed me a cocky smile. "Still just like startin' a Chevy."


	8. Chapter 8: Electric Tigress

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: Thanks to YOUPIN, a.a.k.88, speaker4thsilent, justawritier, -J, and wesleyssilverphoenix for the kind reviews. As I've said before, I'm having serious issues with my memory (the kind in my head, not in my computer), so it's been slow-going getting this stuff churned out since I keep having to go back and reread what's been written previously.

**WARNING: This chapter's a little more sexually mature in content than the previous ones, but nothing too wild.**

-----

**Gunn: "Maybe this isn't our night."**

**Gwen: "Then we _make_ it our night." –from "Players"**

-----

The water beat down on the top of his head. Carefully, he scrubbed at the old blood dried on his abdomen. A man wasn't supposed to be wearing this much of it on the outside and still be alive. It just didn't happen. The water lifted the brown stuff, turning it pink and sent it running in rivulets down his dark body. It mixed around his feet before swirling down the bathtub's drain. It had to be caked on two inches thick in some places. The thought of it sent a little shiver down his spine. He'd been dead. For more than forty-eight hours, he'd been dead as a doornail, lying on the lobby floor waiting for a certain thief to jet herself in from the Orient to revive him.

Blood gone, he got his first good look at his stomach and found it surprisingly scar-free. Illyria had done a damn good job of closing up the wounds left by the senator and her minion vamps. He leaned down, his eyes half-crossing, as he inspected along his hip. Gunn sighed a breath of relief as he found the narrow cobweb of scars on the underside of his hipbone. That'd come from being pitched through a chain link fence by a vamp back in the day before he'd met Angel. If that'd been missing, he wasn't sure if he'd be so sure that this was his body. Weird, he knew, but stranger things had happened to him. "Guess it's still me," he muttered, picking the wash rag back up and continuing the scrubbing.

The hotel's ancient water heater gave out after about an hour. By that point, the bathroom was full of steam, making him feel light-headed. He quickly rinsed off the last of the soap and watched it disappear in runny white bubbles down the drain. No pink. Thank God.

Shoving the shower curtain aside, he stepped out of the tub and started toweling off. The water pooled around his feet on the bare tile, warm and clammy with steam beneath his toes. Every little sensation seemed so much sharper, so much more real since he'd come to downstairs. The soft, stiff fibers of the new bath towel on his skin, his toe where he'd stubbed it trying to get up the stairs to his old room—everything. He'd never felt this _alive_ before. Major contrast to the cloud of numbness he'd spent about the past year stumbling around in.

"One of those big, juicy bacon burgers from Ramone's," he said to his steamed over reflection in the mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet. "Gonna get me one of those and then I'm gonna go see if there're any vamps lurking around. Haven't been on a real hunt in, what? A year? Damn, boy, I'm gonna be rusty as hell." He smiled, and the reflection in the mirror smiled back. For the recently dead, he wasn't looking half bad…and he felt like he could take on the entire world.

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he opened the door leading into his old room. Cordy was back to her old tricks, snitching a credit card (though, apparently, it was English's since Angel's had all been Wolfram & Hart accounts and were now frozen) and buying clothes, including some for him. Girl didn't have bad taste, though there was one white paisley shirt that he was a little uncertain about…

Gwen was in his room, he realized immediately, seated on the edge of the bed, one ankle propped on her opposing knee, acting like she owned the place. The red leather jacket she'd been wearing downstairs—the one with all the zippers—was lying next to her, leaving her all in skin-hugging black: jeans, tank top with those little noodly-looking straps, and, of course, her gloves. Her eyes were roaming over him, making his neck do the prickling thing again. His eyes made their own little inspection, noting the band of white skin where her shirt had drifted up a bit from the waistband of her jeans. His attention fell on a velvet box the size of his hand resting next to her thigh on the bed.

He took the three steps from the door of the bathroom to the bed and picked the box up. It looked like something you'd get at the jeweler's. "This LISA?" he asked. She nodded. Getting it open with only one hand (the other holding up his towel) wasn't easy, but he managed despite the heavy hinge. Inside, resting on a little pillow of matching black velvet, was a small silver microchip about the size of PS2 memory card. "I thought you'd be wearing this," he said, looking from it to her.

Gwen smiled and took it back away from him. "I like to save it for special occasions. It's just a prototype, after all. Besides…sometimes I like being _sparky_. Comes in handy from time to time." The look she gave him was one hundred-proof tease.

He chuckled, snapping the box shut with an audible clap. "Yeah, it does." Gunn looked down at his chest. There were two overlapping hand-shaped burns right over his heart. Not the first time he'd sported her marks. At least this time, she wasn't the one who'd put him in the situation where they were required. "I guess I owe you."

"Big time," she agreed. She scooted back on the bed, folding her legs up in front of her, and patted the spot she'd just abandoned. "I was in Taiwan, you know, when I suddenly got the urge to snag a plane out here. Couldn't explain it—just woke up one morning and felt like I _had_ to come to this place. Guess your goddess put some kind of magical compulsion on me."

Goddess—she meant Illyria. Gunn hadn't seen her, though Angel assured him that she was in the hotel, somewhere. Hadn't been feeling too social since she'd resurrected them, apparently.

He shook his head, shaking off that train of thought. "So, yeah, I owe you big time. Maybe I'd better start carrying a card in my wallet says to call you if my heart ever stops or my soul gets separated from the rest of me." He sat down on the edge of the bed, making the old, squishy mattress bounce under his weight. "So, what can I do to make up for all the trouble I caused you?"

Gwen tucked a curl behind her ear. "It really wasn't that much trouble—just one hell of a plane trip." She turned LISA's box over and over in her hands.

"Oh, come on, there's got to be something," he prodded. "I know a place that makes one hell of a hamburger or if you wanted to see something more entertaining then an in-flight movie, there's a vampire movie that's supposed to be out by now that I wanted to see—it's got Kate Beckinsale…"

With one serpentine movement, she was in his lap, careful of her bare upper arms and shoulders, as she placed her gloved hands on either side of his face, then began to gently move them down his shoulders. She traced a finger along a small puckered scar next to his collar bone. "Piece of vampire stake," she said, favoring him with a roguish smile. Her hand snaked down his side to his hip, right above the towel where the flesh was pinkish and bumpy from a badly healed burn. "Burn marks—from your trip to Encino."

"You remembered."

"I'm a thief, Charles; it's my job to remember the details." Her breath whispered across his face—smelled like spearmint gum. Gunn was suddenly very aware of just how close she was and just how little he was wearing. She shifted her weight forward onto her knees, still straddling him, her breasts safe behind the shirt brushing against his chest. One gloved hand reached back behind her, gently tugging the bottom of his towel up his legs. "And if I'm remembering right, then you've got a big old scar…"

Gunn's hand shot out, catching her elbow. "Gwen, I'm not sure…"

"Denzel, you've gotten exactly thirty seconds to chip me or I'm going to kiss you, LISA or no," she informed him, her voice throaty. Her blue-green eyes were darker than he remembered them.

He rolled her off his lap and onto her back on the bed, her long legs hanging off. The towel slipped dangerously, and he saw her eyes travel down to it. "Demanding, aren't you?"

Pushing with her feet, she shoved herself up onto the bed and rolled, stretching. Lean muscles moved beneath the thin black cloth of her clothes. She reminded him, not for the first time, of a tigress. Gunn retrieved the LISA box from where it had fallen to the floor and opened it. The chip felt so small, so fragile in between his large fingers. Hard to imagine such an itty-bitty thing could contain her electric powers.

Pinching the cloth of her shirt beneath his fingers, he lifted it up just enough to expose the creamy flesh of her lower back. Careful not to touch her skin with his fingertips, he set the thin device right above her spine, copper prongs down. For a moment, one of the little electrodes flashed, and then silvery tentacles crawled out of the sides of the chip and burrowed into the skin on either side. He watched the tentacles move beneath the surface in geometric patterns until another electrode flashed, and they settled in.

"Did it work?" she asked, looking back over her shoulder at him. For the first time since he came out of the bathroom, he heard something other than cocky playfulness in her voice. If he wasn't mistaken, she sounded a little bit…nervous.

Tentatively, he touched his fingertips to her back…and let out the breath he hadn't realize he'd been holding. "Yeah," he assured her, "No shock." His hand ran up her back, under the flimsy tank top. She shivered in response. Gently, he planted a kiss on her spine, right above LISA.

As he raised his head, she rolled back over so she was looking up at him. Reaching up with her black-gloved hands, she drew his face down again, this time to hers, and their lips met, delicately.

"Gunn," she said, pulling away, "I'm not going to break."

He laughed. "Yeah, well, just-dead, cut me some slack." His lips were still tingling from that small kiss.

She laughed as well, mirth in her eyes. "All right, I'll take it slow, just for you," Gwen promised. She reached down and yanked his towel away.

"Slow my ass," he had time to mutter before she pulled him down on top of her.


	9. Chapter 9: Sunrise

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_—Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy do.

Author's Note: I'm a little uneasy on how this chapter played out. Oh, well, give them a moment of happiness, I guess, before things start going south again.

-----

The door to the roof opened with a squeak—maybe not as audible as it used to be but still louder to him than it would have been to a normal human.

Human…him.

This was his third day among the living and breathing, and the thought of his humanity still gave him a little thrill.

Cool hands (though they would have been warm to him just a week before) snaked around his middle, clasping over his stomach as Cordelia nuzzled against his back, her face pressing in between his shoulder blades.

"I thought I'd find you up here," she murmured into his back. "Watching the sun rise again."

Angel nodded, even though it hadn't been a question. Early fingers of rosy light had just begun to reach over the lip of the horizon. In another half hour or so, the sun would be up, but he wouldn't have to hide inside. It wouldn't burn him. Well, it would—Cordy had been harping him about sunburns and skin cancer since he'd first started going outside during the day—but the burns wouldn't kill him. He wasn't a creature of shadow and night anymore. "I don't think it'll ever get old."

She made a noncommittal noise deep in her throat. Then, "Did you talk to Illyria?"

"She wasn't interested in talking—took me fifteen minutes to get her to turn her head so she wasn't mumbling into the carpet. Something's wrong with her."

"And she didn't say what?"

He shook his head. "Illyria's never exactly been what I'd called talkative…and then half of what she says doesn't make much sense. This is the same person who conversed with plants, remember?"

"I don't actually, since I wasn't there, but point taken."

"I wish you had been."

She squeezed once and then removed her arms from his waist. "So do I."

"We needed you," Angel told her as she came around and sat down on the very edge of the roof, dangling her legs over the side. He settled beside her.

Cordy looked over at him and smiled. "_You_ needed me. The others needed…other things. Except maybe Connor. Poor kid—what I wouldn't give to have him be a baby again. Little, snuggly baby—he was so cute back then."

Angel stared out at the reddening sky, not really seeing it. "I can't remember. Everything that's happened since then has just sort of overshadowed it."

She reached over and gave his knee a squeeze. "That's a lie, and you know it."

He sighed. "You're right—you're always right."

"Of course."

They were silent for a few minutes, watching the sunrise and enjoying, after so long apart, each other's presence. For a few scant minutes, in the relative quiet of the morning with the city buzzing far below their feet, everything was perfect. Angel sucked in a deep breath, reveling in the feel of air in his lungs—not just as a pretense but as a necessity.

Cordelia spoke first. "Are you ready?"

"For what?"

Her face had grown oddly expressionless as if she were schooling her features to be carefully devoid of emotion. He felt his stomach clench. For the past two days, they'd been neatly dancing around discussion of the future…or even certain aspects of the present, like why he had retained some of his inhuman abilities or what exactly she was—because she certainly wasn't human anymore.

"Are you ready to face whoever comes to wake Spike up? Because you know it's either going to be Drusilla…or Buffy."

Buffy—and he was human now. Angel touched a hand to his own heart and felt it flutter underneath his palm. He was human, so there was no demon cohabitating with a fragilely anchored soul inside him—there was no more curse to keep them apart… This is what he had hoped for; this is part of why he had sought the Shanshu so passionately.

Beside him, Cordy shifted uncomfortably.

What about her, Cordelia Chase? He looked down at morning's traffic below them. Suddenly, all he could think about was the dream they'd induced in order to bring forth Angelus to fight the Beast. Supposedly, that monk had taken him through a series of events climaxing in perfect happiness. "Do you remember when Jasmine tricked us into releasing Angelus?" he asked.

She nodded, making the brunette curls bounce against her back. He wanted to reach over and twine one through his fingers, but touching her now would probably not be wise—she seemed to vulnerable for that (though she was masking it well). She'd probably bite his head off.

"The monk played with my mind—made me experience everything I really wanted, all my deepest desires. I saw Gunn and Wes getting along instead of fighting over Fred. I fought the Beast side-by-side with Connor, and together we won."

"So, no sex?" she asked incredulously.

"Oh, there was sex," Angel assured her, trying to call to mind the image of her moving over him. She'd been wearing pale blue fleece—he remembered that, but the face that smiled down at him in the memory wasn't the face of the possessed her from a year ago, it was the face she wore now—a little older, a little wiser, a lot less evil.

She snorted, drawing a knee up and hugging it to her chest. "I knew you hadn't matured that much. So, defeating the Big Bad, everybody getting along—especially you and your son—and sex with Buffy—Angel's idea of a perfect world." There was a sharpness to her tone that he wondered if she was even aware of.

"It wasn't with Buffy," he said quietly, hiding his smile.

"It wasn't… Really?" Distrust lurked in her eyes as she searched his face for any sign that he was lying.

"Really."

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, his head having just bounced off the hard surface of the roof, with Cordy kissing him fiercely. When they came up for air a few minutes later, he reached up and brushed aside a stray curl. The rising sun cast its bright rays across her face, turning her skin to rosy gold. In over three hundred years of life and unlife, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "I love _you_."


	10. Chapter 10: Taco Requirement

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_; it belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy; please don't sue me.

Author's Note: Thanks to a.a.k88, speaker4thesilent, YoAngel4E, justawritier, and, of course, -J, for the reviews. You guys rock my world.

---

"**All I am is what I am. I lived seven lives at once. I was power and the ecstasy of death. I was god to a god. Now…I…I'm trapped. On a roof. Just one roof. In this place with an unstable human who drinks too much whiskey and called me a smurf." --Illyria, "Underneath"**

---

A finger jabbed into the soft flesh of Angel's exposed armpit. He grunted and reluctantly opened his eyes, only to find Illyria standing over the bed. "So you finally decided to move," he mumbled. "What'd you want?"

"I require sustenance," the god-king stated, oblivious to his morning moodiness.

He blinked and reached for the alarm clock on the bedside table. The lurid green numbers informed him that it was only just seven. "There's leftover pizza in the fridge." He started to roll over, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder and forced him back on his back.

"I desire a certain form of sustenance."

Angel sighed inwardly. Where was Wes when you needed him? Oh, right, three doors down, stretched out on one of the hotel's beds, just a spiritless shell. It had been three weeks since Cordy and the demon god's combined efforts had brought Angel back from the dead, but still no one had come to help either Spike or Wes. Cordy had made him move their inert bodies to two of the bedrooms so people wouldn't have to step over them every time they walked through the lobby (Spike currently bore a bruise on his arm where Gunn had accidentally trod on him in the dark).

"Ok," Angel said, deciding he wasn't going to get any more sleep unless he played along. "What do you want?"

"Thin, fried bread, folded in half, stuffed with crumbly meat products, shredded and moldy dairy byproducts, and bits of vegetable."

"'Shredded and moldy dairy'…" Angel muttered. Then it dawn on him. "Oh, you want a taco!"

The blue demon cocked her head to the side. "Yes…that is the word. I require a taco."

"Illyria, it's seven in the morning—none of the taco places are open right now. Trust me, I know from when Fred was eating twelve of them a day…" He paused, his sleep-addled brain trying to make sense of something he'd just said. "Fred…"

"The shell's soul is gone," Illyria snapped.

Angel sat up, scooting back against the headboard, as he gave her a good, hard look. Physically, nothing had changed about her since day one—there were little worm-like impressions on the left side of her face from being smashed into the carpet for over two weeks, but that was it. There was something else, something not physical though it was very nearly tangible. She was agitated, he realized. Something was upsetting her, and he doubted that it was her stomach. "You just want tacos. All right, I'll get you tacos." He went to swing his legs over the side of the bed and realized that he was naked under the sheet. "Um…can you wait out in the hall?"

Piercing blue eyes bore into him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I don't have any pants on." He made a little shooing motion.

"Your naked form neither bothers nor excites me."

"Yeah but you seeing me naked bothers _me_. Out!"

She went, and he fumbled around on the floor for his discarded clothes. Cordy, asleep in the bed he'd just abandoned, stirred as he buckled his belt. "Where're you going?" she murmured sleepily.

Angel bent over her and planted a kiss on her temple. "The grocery store—Illyria wants tacos."

"Hm…breakfast tacos sound good."

"You want me to make you some?"

She nodded into the pillow.

Gently, he drew the sheet back up to cover her bare shoulder, kissing it before hiding it beneath the white sheet. "Be back soon," he promised as he slipped quietly out into the hall.

Illyria was waiting, as ordered, right outside the door. "I require tacos," she repeated.

"I got that the first three times you said it. Now, put your human face on and let's go—I'm going to introduce you to the 'breakfast taco'."

He hurried on down the hall so he wouldn't have to watch as she shifted from Illyria to fake-Fred. Seeing her wearing the face of his dead friend was bad enough…

---

Which is how Angel ended up in the Food Village supermarket, pushing the God-King of the Primordial Ooze up and down the aisles. Illyria, wearing Fred's face though not Fred's mannerisms, sat folded up n the basket of the cart. He'd made her climb in after she'd shown a bit too much interest in a toddler in the cereal aisle. She now had a bunch of green grapes hanging from one hand. One by one, she plucked the fruit from the stem, inspecting each grape carefully before popping it into her mouth.

"This fruit is barren," she observed as he paused in front of the meat section and started poking through the ground beef. Angel might not have been able to eat food for a couple hundred years, but he'd had plenty of opportunity to cook for his friends. Hell, in the earliest days of Angel Investigations, Doyle and Cordy would have been subsisting on take-out alone if it weren't for him. Wes too, when he came along after Doyle died.

He put a pound of hamburger in the folded-out child's seat of the cart. "What? Oh, you mean they're seedless. They grow them like that."

Grape pinched between thumb and forefinger, she rotated it to view it from every possible angle. "What crime did it commit that your people no longer permit it to breed?"

Angel rolled his eyes, moving along to the dairy refrigerators. "The grapes didn't do anything—it's just easier to eat them if they don't have seeds."

"I do not castrate my food before devouring it."

"Illyria, you normally don't _eat_," he pointed out.

"When I feasted on the flesh of my enemies," the god-king amended.

"Benevolent of you." Angel placed a block of cheddar cheese in the palm of her other, empty hand. "Listen, we need to talk."

"You are too puny a creature to make any demands of me now, mortal rodent." She opened her mouth wide, her jaw dislocating like a snake's, to fit the block of plastic-wrapped cheese entirely inside. Stunned, Angel could only watch as she popped her jaw back into place and swallowed. No rectangular shape passed down her throat, but she must have digested the cheddar somehow, for when she opened her mouth to speak again, it was empty. "The moldy dairy byproduct pleases me…though the outer shell is flavorless."

"Uh…" Angel worked his mouth, trying to process the rather horrific scene he'd just witnessed. "You aren't supposed to eat the plastic…and you're avoiding the subject. It's been three weeks, and nobody's shown up to bring Spike and Wes back to life."

"The call was sent out to the mate of the one called Spike," Illyria answered. "If she does not come, then it is because she cannot." She cocked her head to the side—an expression so incongruent with Fred's form. "Or, perhaps, she will not."

"Do you have any idea of who 'she' is?" Angel prodded as he got another block of cheddar out of the case. This one went beside the hamburger in the cart, not the demon.

"I told you—his mate."

Angel snorted. "Spike's been around for a while. He's 'mated' with quite a few women." He was pushing here, but he had to know. Cordy was probably right—it would be either Drusilla or Buffy. If it was Drusilla, then she was probably too lost in her own head to realize she was being mystically summoned to LA. If it was Buffy…he didn't want to think that it was Buffy.

Illyria sniffed. "His true mate—the one best fit to bear his progeny."

Angel felt his stomach clench. It had to be Buffy then. Drusilla was technically dead, and dead things don't give birth as they'd all learned with Darla and Connor. He tasted bile in the back of his throat at the thought of Spike and Buffy together again. It wasn't that he wanted her for himself—he'd been honest when he'd told Cordelia that on the roof—it was just…there was just something cosmically not _right_ about the two of them together.

"This upsets you," the god-king observed.

Angel quickly turned away from her to find the sour cream.

---

They spoke no more as he finished the shopping. The cashier that rang his purchases up at the checkout line raised her eyebrows at the sight of the god-king scrunched up in the cart, but she thankfully didn't say anything.

They walked back, each carrying a bag, and Angel holding the half gallon jug of milk in his other hand. Los Angeles was well into its morning rituals—cars honking impatiently as they tried to navigate the morning's rush, people bustling by on the streets nattering into cell phones. The air was heavy with an agitated hostility, slightly more so than normal. It was as if his attempted coup against Wolfram & Hart was still affecting the city's populace, even if they didn't notice it. The collapse of the main offices—blamed on terrorists—injected a heady dose of fear into the mix as well. In the area surrounding the Hyperion (curiously untouched by the battles, though they had taken place directly adjacent to it), the media reported a massive fire destroying several buildings including a shopping center and a bank. How else were they going to explain away a dragon attack? The corpses of those Angel and his friends had slain had been cleared away before the fire fighters arrived—Wolfram & Hart covering its tracks.

Angel looked up at a palm tree as they neared the hotel—half of its fronds burned away by the dragon's breath. In the sun, like this, with the woman he loved waiting for him not a half block away, it was hard to imagine that he'd been dead not too long ago.

It was almost too perfect. Which meant the other shoe was going to drop real soon. The Power That Be just couldn't seem to let him have more than a moment's peace.

Angel and Illyria rounded the corner, and he stopped and stiffened. There was someone lurking near the gate leading to the hotel's courtyard. As Illyria continued forward, the person paced restlessly back and forth in a small circle. It was Connor.

Angel broke into a run at the sight of his son, oblivious to the groceries in his arms. As he drew nearer he realized Connor was covered in blood. It soaked his abdomen, stained the knees of his khakis, trickled out from a cut on his cheek, wept from his busted knuckles…

The milk exploded as it hit the concrete. "Connor? What's wrong?"

His son raised his head, and Angel's heart seemed to freeze in his chest at the sight of Connor's blue eyes so full of wild grief. "They're dead, Dad," the young man said, holding out his torn and bloody hands. Tears began to stream out of the corners of his eyes. "They're all dead." He threw himself at Angel, wrapping his arms around him, and sobbing into Angel's shirt. "They're all dead…"


	11. Chapter 11: Where I Stand

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_. 'Nuff said.

Author's Note: After one chapter of sexy stuff, one chapter of mush, and almost an entire chapter of Illyria being…well, Illyria, we are now going back to our regularly-scheduled doom, gloom, and drama! Wahoo! Sorry if this chapter's a bit short—it's been a hard week. Oh, and it's Connor's POV.

---

"**You gotta do what you can to protect your family. I learned that from my father." –Connor, "Origin**

---

Imagine something really weird happened. Really weird. As in got-hit-full-on-by-a-speeding-car-and-weren't-injured weird. Not even a bruise. I think my ribs were red for a few minutes as if they were _thinking_ about bruising, but they must have decided against it because by the time the cops got there, I didn't have a mark on me. The Corvette that hit me wasn't so lucky—it's entire front end had a huge me-shaped dent in it. If it weren't for the dent, I think we'd all have found someway to dismiss the accident as not real. That I had seen the car coming and somehow thrown myself out of the way. But, it's kind of hard to deny that the accident never happened with a dent that big staring you in the face. Oh, and shiny red paint under my nails from where they'd scraped across the hood of the Corvette.

That's how I met Angel—a cop suggested to my parents that we all visit a certain law firm, and he just happened to be the head of it. And a vampire. Mind you, he wasn't at all what I thought a vampire would be like—I would have thought he'd be more suave, more…_French_. Instead, I meet this big, muscular guy who seems happy enough to meet me but also nervous, like it's a blind date or something.

Didn't make any sense until I suddenly remembered that he was my father—my _real_ biological father. I'm still not sure how it happened, but when I killed Sahjahn, I suddenly got this whole other lifetime's worth of memories—_my_ memories. I'm pretty sure they're real—that I could never have gotten lost in the supermarket when I was five because when I was five I was living in Quortoth, thinking I was Steven Holtz, not Connor Reilly…or Connor Angel.

It makes my brain hurt to think about, and I'm no idiot. I got accepted to a boat load of schools last fall, and I'm going to Stanford now. But not only have I lived through two different lives—which may or may not both be real (I haven't decided yet)—but I spent most of one being brainwashed and lied to first by Holtz and then by my own monster of a daughter.

Yes, I had a daughter. 'Had' being the operative word there because I beat her face in. My first smashed through her rotting, maggoty, beautiful face, and then she was gone.

When I killed her, I lost everything. I did such horrible, disgusting, awful, _evil_ things (stuff that I can't stand to think about without feeling sick to my stomach—I didn't really murder that poor girl, did I? Somebody please tell me that that's not what happened. Please?) to bring my daughter into the world. I remember thinking she would be this perfect little baby—as beautiful as her mother, with just enough of me in her to prove to everybody that she was _mine_. Someone I could protect—not Angel, _me._

In one set of memories, I hate him. I can't help it. In the other, I respect him and actually think he's kind of cool, which is probably why it's his shoulder I'm crying into on the sidewalk, in public, in broad daylight, when everything in my world has gone completely to Hell.


	12. Chapter 12: Son of Angel

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_. Joss Whedon does. I hope he doesn't sue me.

A/N: Thank you to justawritier, angel-cordy, Ann, -J, wesleyssilverphoenix, and Black Opal 1 for dropping a line.

-----

They were in the lobby of the Hyperion. He must have maneuvered them in here, part of Angel's brain realized—gotten them off the street before some passerby got too good a look at Connor and the blood he was soaked in. Illyria, wearing her own blue face since they'd crossed the threshold, had disappeared, taking the groceries with her. Minor detail. All that really mattered right now was his son.

Anxiously, Angel checked the young man for wounds. He could smell the blood on the boy just as strongly as ever—its bright metallic stink filling his nostrils—but the smell held no attraction for him. His inner beast didn't try and battle its way up to gorge itself on the red fluids. Angelus—the realization hit him as suddenly as a blow to the head—was _gone_. The smell of blood was actually sort of…repulsive to him now. And Connor wasn't hurt. His hands were beaten, but they would heal within the hour, given how fast his son could heal. Angel couldn't help but smile.

Connor eyed him distrustfully. "Why…why are you smiling?"

He hugged his son's head. "I'm not a vampire!"

"Well, duh—what have I been telling you for the past three weeks?" Cordy's voice came from behind them, from the base of the stairs. Angel released his son, and he heard Connor suck in a surprised breath as he got his first look at her…in this life at least. Angel turned as well, and his smile widened at the sight of her. She was dressed very simply in black trousers and a white blouse untucked, her dark hanging in loose curls still damp from the shower. "Hello, Connor." There was nothing in her voice except maternal warmth, though a hint of unease lurked in her dark eyes. She knew what had passed between them when her body wasn't hers to control, and she knew that part of him knew as well.

"Um…hi…" Connor, blushing bright red, gave a little wave in her direction.

Cordy's eyes flicked over him, taking in the blood. "What happened to you?"

"We were just about to find out," Angel answered for him. Gently, he steered his son over to the pouf and settled him down on it. Cordy sat down beside him. Close enough that she was positioned to look both him and Angel in the eye but not so close that her proximity intruded on Connor's personal space. The kid still looked like he was two seconds from jumping through the roof. Crouching down in front of his son, Angel laid a hand comfortingly on Connor's shoulder. "What happened? Who's dead?"

Connor bit down on his lip as if he was trying to chase away the tears with pain, but they trickled down his cheeks anyway. Angel had to fight to keep his hands from brushing them away. How hard was this? He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Holtz had taken away the chance he'd been given to be a father. Angel had never had the opportunity to kiss his son's scraped knees, to comfort him when the monsters in the closet woke him up at night.

"It's all right," Cordy added. "We can help you. It's what we do."

"I know," he answered, his voice shaky. "I…I went home to do laundry this weekend. There are washers and stuff at the dorms, but I didn't have any quarters, so I talked one of the guys on my hall into giving me a ride to my folks' place. Everything looked fine from the sidewalk, so he just dropped me off and drove off. My key doesn't work too good in the front door, so I went around the back and found the kitchen door standing open. It looked like it'd been forced." He paused and swallowed. "When we were little, in school, they always told us never to go in the house if you found the door open like that. In case the burglar or whoever was still there. But, I thought, hey, I'm all powerful and stuff—I can take on your average robber. There were…men in the house. Standing over my parents' bodies." Connor looked down, twisting his hands together between his knees. "I'm pretty sure they weren't human. Demons, maybe, in human form. Whoever they were, they were strong." He stopped with the hand-twisting and held his arms out, looking at the dried blood like he was just now noticing it. "Not strong enough." The hands clenched into fists, and Connor's eyes grew dark and hard. "I should have made it last longer."

Angel drew back, stunned by the sudden change in his son. "Connor…"

The teenager leapt to his feet, casting an unreadable look down at him. "What? You can't tell me you've never wanted to make someone hurt for an eternity, _Dad_." Pushing past him, Connor strode across the room and, as Angel and Cordy watched helplessly, ran up the stairs, disappearing into the upper reaches of the hotel.

The door leading to the hotel's kitchen opened with a tiny squeak, and Angel's superhuman hearing alerted him to Illyria's return. "I wish to consume tacos. You will make them now."


	13. Chapter 13: Enter the Oracle

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_.

A/N: A big thank you to angel-cordy, a.a.k.88, Louvil, justawritier, kiwilass, and especially gopie for all the reviews. It's good to know someone's still reading this!

-----

Connor fled to the second floor of the Hyperion. The old hotel smelled musty, like it had been shut up for months. Beneath the scent of dust and mildew were the remnants of the hundreds of people who had come through here just a year ago to worship Jasmine. His daughter. The demon-goddess who had tried to take over the world. The thought made him freeze in his tracks and put a hand out to the wall to steady himself. The wallpaper beneath his palm was dry and cracked with age. His father had never bothered to do much renovating around here. Didn't have the time. Too busy saving the world. Too busy to save his own son from Hell.

Bile rose up in the back of Connor's throat, and he gagged. At home, away from this place, it had been almost easy to deal with the dual sets of conflicting memories. He could just pretend that other life was some weird dream. Violent, terrifying, and even at times, hot as hell, but just dreams. Here, in this place, where he'd apparently lived as an infant, where he'd spent an entire summer, it was harder to draw the line between real and fake. He gagged again, and this time lost what little was in his stomach. The puke hit the wall, dribbling down the wallpaper and over the wooden chair rail before running on to the ancient and dust-filled carpet.

He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He hadn't thrown up…ever. Not even the night Jasper and Evan had dared him to drink an entire bottle of tequila. Everyone—even the two who had dared him—had been shocked that he hadn't needed to be rushed to the hospital. His body had processed the alcohol without a problem, the only side effect being slight dizziness when he stood back up. Now, he knew, it was because of his inhuman metabolism.

Vomit, he decided, was gross. _I should probably find something to clean that up._ There would be cleaning supplies in Angel's room, he knew, if his father was still staying in the same suite. Stumbling a little bit—his stomach still lurching—he made his way down the hall to Angel's own room.

A wave of new smells washed over him as he opened the door, and he had to bite his lip to keep from throwing up again. His sense of smell had always been good but never this keen. _What is up with me today? It was like this yesterday. All the lights are too bright, I'm hearing every noise way too loud. Everyone sounds like they're shouting when I know they're just talking normal._ It was like a damper had been lifted from all his senses. Part of him was utterly confused by the changes, but another part of him recognized what it was to know the world this intimately…the part of him that was a predator, the part of him that was the Destroyer.

Connor reeled with the realization. He took a step, caught his toe on a lump in the carpet, and fell to his hands and knees. Closing his eyes, he just knelt there, fighting to get control of both his stomach and his thoughts. Everything was so chaotic in his head—too much stimuli. _It's been like this since I smelled their blood—Mom's, Dad's, Rachel's. Somebody must have cast a spell over me…that's why I've got two sets of memories. The spell must have been broken when those demons killed my parents._ "I hate magic," he whispered. The words sounded like a mantra in his mouth. In one life, it had been something he'd repeated over and over with loathing. In another, magic hadn't even been a factor in his life, not until he was nineteen. "I wish I'd never killed Sahjahn. I wish that car had never hit me!" he cried into the carpet, tears starting to run afresh down his cheeks.

He sobbed until he was spent, and then he rolled over on to his back and just lay there, feeling the air conditioning wash over him. He'd spent the night asleep in the park, out in the hot, sticky LA spring. After a night of that, AC was bliss. Or it would have been, if he hadn't felt so shitty.

The room smelled like his father, he realized, recognizing the smell of the vampire's hair gel, soap, and sweat. There was another scent, nearly as strong. Definitely female—flowery shampoo, perfumed soap…even her sweat smelled feminine to his newly awakened sense of smell. _Cordelia_, his mind supplied for him, and he felt his face flush. God, how embarrassing it had been when he'd seen her downstairs, and God, how beautiful she was. She was with his father now, he realized. Their scents were too intermingled in here for them not to be. The thought made his stomach clench with jealousy. _She's mine! She carried my child. She swore she'd do anything for me._ _No, no, that couldn't have been her. That woman was evil. She made me sacrifice that girl…_ Connor let out a wail and rolled over on to his side, drawing his legs up to his chest.

The girl's face floated in the front of his mind, begging him to save her. A bloody hand on Cordelia's swollen belly. She was wearing black, ordering him to kill the girl. And Darla…Darla, his own mother, was there, in white and pink, pleading with him. His mother…his own, real mother who had loved him enough to die for him. And she had seen him kill an innocent. His nails dug into his knees, tearing the heavy fabric of his khakis and digging into his own flesh. The pain was sharp, but it wasn't enough to drown out the pain in his mind.

Light filled the room. Pure, brilliant, dazzling white light. Connor gasped and rolled over to face the source near the window. It flared brighter, blinding him. When his vision cleared, he saw that he wasn't the only one in the room. A woman in long white robes stood in front of the window, long red hair spilling in a fall of curls down her back. Slowly, he pushed himself up, frowning at her sudden appearance. That part of him that was the Destroyer was ready to fight, but the other half knew instinctively that this woman wasn't going to attack. At least not yet.

"Hello, Connor," she said. Her voice was disappointingly normal. After an entrance like that, he'd been expecting it to be more, well, memorable. Like thunder or bells or something spectacular like that. And, now that the little black spots had cleared completely from his vision, he saw that she was younger than he'd been expecting—about his age—and not as beautiful as he'd first thought. Sure, she was pretty, but in an average sort of way. She looked like she could be a kid from one of his lecture classes, just another face in a sea of two hundred. _She got nothing on Cordelia_. He squashed that thought down as soon as it popped up.

"Pretty fancy entrance," he commented, trying to play it cool as he got to his feet. "Who are you?"

"I'm Cassandra," she replied, "The Oracle. You can call me 'Cass'." She stuck her hand out.

He just looked at it.

"You're supposed to shake it," Cass said, holding it out closer to him. "I'm not going to bite."

Connor felt his ears go red, and he quickly clasped her hand. "I knew that. I…I just didn't expect someone like you to know that."

The Oracle snorted. "I may be a Higher Power, but I do get human contact from time to time. Well, more recently than the past thousand years or so, but that's not really relevant to situation at hand."

_Bland face aside, she's got a personality_. "I'm Connor," he introduced himself, "But I guess that you already knew that. Angel's downstairs, if you're looking for him."

"Actually, it's you I'm here for." Gathering her robes around her, she plopped down on the foot of his father's unmade bed. "Angel's already got a Higher Power working with him."

"Cordelia." The name jumped unbidden to his tongue, and the jealousy accompanied it.

"Got it in one. He's a tough case, so our boss thought she'd be the best one for the job—seeing as how she's close to him already."

"Yeah," he grumbled, "And I get stuck with you." Angel always got everything easy. So what if he'd been the Scourge of Europe, he still got the girl and the soul and the apparently infinite second chances. _I screwed up once, and they turn my baby into Hell-spawn, steal my memories, and have my parents murdered_.

"Hey! Watch your mouth, kid."

"Or what? You'll beat me up?" he sneered.

She snorted. "I could take you down without breaking a sweat, son of two vampires or no."

Connor bristled. "Yeah right."

Cass surged to her feet, her robes melting into khakis and a t-shirt as he watched. The change took only a split second, but his mind slowed the process for him so he could witness her white slippers morphing into tennis shoes identical to the ones on his feet. "Pick your weapon, punk."

"Who needs weapons?" He sank instinctively into a fighting stance. She was shorter than he was, so he'd have more leverage. Also, as a girl, she couldn't be as strong as he was…

He barely blocked her first punch, shifting so he took it on the meat of his upper arm instead of across his jaw. _Ok, so she is almost as strong as I am..._ He blocked the second one with his hand, pushing her fist to the side and bringing his knee up to strike her in the ribs. She took the blow on the move, already skittering out of reach. The Oracle was ungodly fast, but then again, he wasn't human either. Connor tried a high kick to her head, but she ducked and rushed him, riding him down to the carpet.

He landed on his back, wrapped his arms around her middle, and rolled them over, attempting to pin her. She responded with a head-butt that made his vision blur for a second. The attack gave her enough time to yank one wrist free of his grip, and she clocked him on the side of the head with it. Connor rolled again, dragging Cass with him. Pulling his knee up under her chest, he tossed the Higher Power over his head and across the room. She hit the wall by the door with a crash but came down on her feet. He flipped himself upright and turned towards her just in time for her small hands to wrap around his neck. A growl rose up in the back of his throat, and he lashed out, catching her across the jugular. She started to gag as the door to the bedroom flew open.

"Connor!" Angel shouted. His father took two steps across the room, grabbed the Higher Power by the scruff of the neck, and tossed her over the bed as if she were no more than a rag doll. The Oracle landed on the bedside table, toppling it and shattering the lamp that was sitting on it.

Cordy was right behind him, rushing to Connor's side. "Connor, are you all right?"

Connor looked up at her, massaging his throat. He was going to have bruises later. "Yeah." The response came out mangled thanks to the damage to his windpipe, so he nodded, just in case she hadn't understood.

"Let me get you some ice," she clucked, moving across the room to the suite's little kitchen unit. "You're going to have one hell of a shiner later."

Angel, in the meantime, had gone over to the fallen Oracle, who had wisely chosen to stay where she landed and was now glaring up at the vampire from the floor. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?" Angel growled.

The Oracle cleared her throat. "My name is Cass, I'm a Higher Power, and I was sent here to help your son," she answered hoarsely.

Cordy froze at the words 'Higher Power'.

"By attacking him?" Angel yelled.

"Wait," Cordelia said, putting a hand on Angel's forearm to stay him. Connor felt the green-eyed monster grumble in his brain. "You look familiar," she said to Cass. "Gabriel sent you?"

The Oracle nodded. Slowly, seemingly unwilling to provoke Angel again, she eased herself up into a sitting position.

Connor moved forward and took the forgotten icepack from Cordy. His fingers brushed against hers, and a shiver shot down his spine. "Who's Gabriel?" he asked quietly.

"My boss," Cordy answered. "The Power That Be who's in charge of the Human Resources Department…you know, I've never understood why they call it that because like half of our charges aren't even human."

"I think it's because we're all working to the betterment of the human race, in the end," Cass suggested. She pushed herself to her feet, using the wall behind her. The movement made her wince. "Could somebody please remove the chunk of porcelain from my back?"

She turned, revealing that a shard from the lamp, about the size of Connor's palm, had embedded itself in her back, right beside her spine. The green t-shirt she wore, identical to his, was stained with fresh red blood. He could smell it, he realized. More than that, he could _feel_ the rush of blood out of the arteries, the beating of her heart. It wasn't just her either—he could almost hear Cordy's heart and…Angel's? Frowning, he turned towards his father.

"You still haven't explained why you were trying to strangle Connor," Angel growled.

"It's…it's ok, Dad," Connor said, stepping forward. "I picked a fight with her. She was just trying to defend herself." He stuffed the icepack into his pocket and touched the shard gently. She sucked in a sharp breath. "This is in deep," he informed her quietly.

"I know," she whispered. "I can't heal with it in."

Carefully, he closed his other fingers around it, trying not to jiggle it too much. She gritted her teeth, bracing herself against the wall. "I'll make it quick," he promised, and then yanked.

Fresh, warm blood splattered across his face and chest as the piece of the lamp came free. Cass sank to her knees, her hands dragging down the wallpaper. Cordelia bumped him aside with her hip and dropped down beside the Oracle, pressing something—a shirt maybe—against the wound.

Connor took a step back, into his father. Angel's hands came down protectively on his shoulders. "You ok?"

Connor nodded. "You?"

"I don't like to see people trying to strangle you."

"That's good to know." He turned his attention back to the two women. Cordy's hands were glowing as she applied pressure to the wound. On a human, a cut that deep wound have probably been fatal. Odds were, a piece of the lamp had nicked an organ, but he didn't sense any life seeping from Cass, just blood and even the flow of that was ebbing as Cordelia healed the gash. Now was as good a time as any to ask. "Um…Dad, your heart's beating. I don't remember it doing that before."

-----

A/N: And so begins our crossover with my other Angel fic "Dea Ex Machina". It shouldn't be necessary to have read it yet, but if you want to know where Cass came from, that would be the place to look. The link is in my profile.


	14. Chapter 14: Remember This

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_. I mean no harm by writing this and make no money from it.

A/N: Cass comes from my fic "Dea Ex Machina", which runs parallel to this one. Big thank yous to gopie, a.a.k.88, justawritier, and –J for the reviews. Means a lot to me, you guys.

-----

The Higher Power slept. Cordy sat watch beside the bed. It was the same bed that she and Angel had been sharing for the past few weeks, though for tonight they had moved across the hall so this girl could heal in peace.

Cordy snorted. There was no telling what the Higher Power's real form was. She might be a red-haired girl or she might be a guy or a blue androgynous thing with tentacles. Ok, maybe not with tentacles—those were usually demon traits. Connor said she called herself Cassandra the Oracle. Cordy didn't recognize her. Not that it meant anything—there were dozens of Higher Powers and not all of them worked for the PTB's Human Resources department. Cordy didn't know even half her coworkers. She hadn't spent enough time in that other realm to get to know them.

She sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. Watching this girl sleep was boring. However, Angel and Connor were doing the male-bonding thing tonight. They'd gone with Gunn to see an action flick and maybe go out to a bar afterwards. Connor wouldn't be able to drink, but he could at least get in the door. She'd made all three of them swear they wouldn't get into any fights. Illyria was downstairs. The blue demon was attempting to discover if the light in the fridge stayed on when the door was closed. It should keep her entertained for hours.

The Oracle groaned. Cordy looked up and saw the girl was awake and looking at her with big green eyes.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. Being polite never hurt anything.

The Higher Power who called herself Cass smiled weakly. "Like I just did ten rounds with a _saharit_ demon, but that's what I get for letting my charge goad me into a punching match."

"It's an interesting technique all right." Maybe she ought to try it on Angel—might get through that thick head of his.

"I'm new at this, okay." With another groan, she scooted herself up into a sitting position against the headboard.

Cordy's eyes narrowed. "How new?"

"Connor's one of my first charges. I've got three others right now."

"Four on the first time out?" she asked in surprise. Angel was her first and only charge. Of course, he was also the PTB's Champion and a handful, but this girl seemed like a complete fish.

Cass nodded. "I think Gabriel wants to overload me, get me to quit and go back to the ranks."

"Ranks of what?"

"I was one of Michael's foot soldiers before I transferred to Human Resources." She reached behind her and felt under the shirt for the wound. It should have been all but gone by now. Cordy's new fangled healing powers were nothing short of miraculous. No more messy antiseptics and yards of bandages for the Fang Gang now. She frowned—if Angel was human now, did that mean they were going to have to change the name? Angel had been singularly reluctant to talk about _anything _pertaining to their future, which had been fine for the first two weeks or so but was now really starting to bug her. And, now this girl was going to cause even more of a distraction, as if Wes and Spike still laying comatose down the hall wasn't bad enough.

"Why'd you transfer?" The frown on Cordy's face deepened, but she didn't care. Now that she was technically dead, there was no reason to worry about wrinkles. Not much chance of reviving her acting career either. Nope, Cordelia Chase was now a working girl of the Higher Power variety.

"Honestly? I got bored." The look on the Oracle's face made it clear that she expected to be derided for her motivation. Gabriel had probably given her hell for it. PTB or not, the man had a stick up his ass the length of the Eiffel Tower.

"I can relate," Cordy replied with a wry smile. "I used to be Vision Girl upstairs, but I just about went bonkers doing nothing but watching my friends."

That caught Cass's attention. "You were a seer?"

"Not just any old seer—I was _the Seer_, as in the vision pipeline from the PTB to their Champion." She couldn't help bragging, just a bit. While she certainly hadn't asked for the job and it'd caused her more than enough grief, the visions had allowed her to do a lot of good. She sort of missed the skull-splitting headaches, not that she'd ever admit that out-loud. They'd become a part of her life, like going to the dentist or occasionally getting drenched in demon goo—icky but integral. A little bit of her died when the PTB told her that she would lose her visions. It would be the cost, Gabriel had told her, for the chance to work with Angel again.

It was a fair trade.

Cass was duly impressed by the boast. "So Angel's the Champion?"

Cordy nodded. Where had this kid been? Under a rock?

The Oracle snorted. "When I was alive, Hercules was the Champion…" She paused, cocking her head to the side. "I can see the resemblance though—muscles, the forehead."

"So you're Greek?"

"Former Oracle of Delphi, at your service." Cass swung her legs over the side of the bed and eased her feet on to the floor. "You guys got anything to eat? I'm starving."

"I had to use some of your own strength to heal you," Cordy explained as she too stood, moving to help the other Higher Power.

Cass waved her off. "I know how it works, but thanks. Healing that naturally would have been a stone bitch."

"Next time don't pick a fight with Angel's son while he's in hearing range."

"I was trying to be quiet."

"Something made a huge crash." That's what had brought the two of them running. They hadn't expected anyone to be up here except Connor and the two soulless sleepers. When she'd heard the noise, some little part of Cordelia had hoped one of them had managed to wake up on their own. _I wanted it to be Wes._ Over three weeks and still no life-bringer to bring him completely back to life. She was starting to worry that there wouldn't be anyone for him. Wesley hadn't exactly been an outgoing sort of guy. From what she'd seen looking down on him and the others, Fred had been the only one to really capture his heart. He'd been so painfully in love with the slender, geeky scientist for so long. Not even his relationship with Lilah, as odd as that'd been, could come close to the torch he'd carried for Fred.

_And then there's Spike... Why hasn't Buffy shown up yet? I'm going to have to talk to Angel about that._

"That would have been me hitting the wall," Cass said with a smile. "The boy has skills."

"Yes, he does."

The two women headed down to the kitchen, and Cordy was pleasantly surprised to find the guys were already home. Gunn sat at the kitchen table, Gwen perched on his lap. Connor froze as they entered, a deer-in-headlights look on his face as he stared at her. The look made her uncomfortable and not for the first time, Cordy wondered just how much he remembered of what had happened before his brain wipe. Angel, though, had nothing but a smile for her as he bounded over and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"How was the movie?" she asked as she gave him a quick squeeze. "And what happened to going to a bar?"

"Decided to come home and spend sometime with you," Angel replied, "And the movie was good."

"Got my car-chase fix for the week," Gunn added.

"This coming from a man who's been in them," Gwen teased. The thief tilted her head back for a kiss, and Gunn obliged. If she and Angel hadn't been just as kissy-kissy lately, Cordy would have been tempted to stick her finger down her throat.

The Oracle had her head in the refrigerator, and Connor was hovering nearby, his eyes flicking back and forth from Cass to her so quickly Cordy was sure he was going to make himself dizzy. A moment later, Cass surfaced, the milk jug in one hand and a plate of leftover pizza in the other. She held the plate out to Connor, offering. The two of them would have to work out their own truce, Cordy decided.

Gently, she took Angel's arm and steered him out into the old office behind the front desk. "We need to talk," she informed him, shutting the door behind them.

He flopped down in the old rolling desk chair. "About what?"

"About what's going on," she replied as she settled herself on the edge of the desk. He reached over and began to gently massage her knee. "Connor and the Oracle, Wes, Spike, Buffy. You and me. Everything."

"Connor's back with us. He's going to be ok," Angel said, sincerity in his dark eyes.

"Someone killed his family, Angel. Taking him out to the movies tonight probably wasn't the best idea—the cops are looking for him," she pointed out. "Wolfram & Hart have done their best to make life as difficult for him as possible and, by extension, for you too."

"I just wanted to get him out of the hotel for a while…get him away from that Higher Power," Angel growled.

"I'm a Higher Power too, you know."

"Yes, but you're not an annoying one. At least not all the time." There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, but she swatted at him anyway. "What I don't get is why they killed Connor's family. There had to have been other ways to get at the both of us without hurting innocents."

"Hurting innocents is all that Wolfram & Hart does. They're evil, remember?"

Angel looked away, but not before she saw the look of hurt in his eyes. Too late, she remembered that he'd been affiliated with the law firm for the past year. The Senior Partners had given him the keys to the kingdom in hopes that it would corrupt him. It very nearly had.

Cordy slid off the desk and sat down in his lap, wrapping her arms around him. 'That's why you went kamikaze, isn't it? It wasn't the vision I gave you—it was the feeling that you were slipping…that you just had a few more days left before you gave in to them."

A tear slid down the side of his nose. "I never would have gone there. I never would have led Wesley and Fred and the others there if it hadn't been for you and Connor. You were both so hurt, and I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't just let the two of you die."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for that, but it was my time, Angel. I had to die, in order to come back to you." Reaching down, she took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "Now, we have to get on with this business of the future."

"You've had a vision?"

Cordy shook her head. "Nope, no more visions for me. You've got a new Seer coming, or so they tell me."

Angel rested his head against her shoulder. "I don't want a new Seer…I like the one I've got just fine."

She snorted. "There's just the little problem of me being dead."

"You don't feel dead to me," he murmured, then brushed his lips against the side of her neck, resting them briefly over the pulse in her throat. "I can feel your heart beating…which I shouldn't be able to now that I'm human. Why didn't I lose my vampire senses along with Angelus?"

"Honestly, I don't know, and I haven't…had the time to ask around." She gave him a teasing smile and kissed him lightly on the nose. "Now, completely off-topic, but you need to call Buffy."

Angel jerked back. "What? Why?"

"Because I believe the darling Slayer is ignoring Illyria's call to come and awaken Spike. Because I don't know how long Illyria's magic can keep him alive without a soul."

"He survived a good hundred years without one," Angel groused. She smacked him—just hard enough that he winced. "Ow! All right, all right, I'll call Buffy."

Cordy slid off his lap, so he could get up. "You ready for this?"

"Ready to have the two of you in the same building? Not really," he admitted as he moved to the desk where a tan plastic phone sat, waiting. It was the only thing on the dark wooden desk except a blotter stained with grease from take out. His hand hovered over the receiver, shaking slightly. As she stood, arms folded impatiently over her chest, he raised his dark eyes to look at her. "I love you. Remember that."

"I will," she promised.


	15. Chapter 15: The Right Foot This Time

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel._ It belongs to the genius Joss Whedon. This is for entertainment purposes only. I make no money, and I mean no harm.

A/N: First off, the thank yous: to –J, YOUPIN, Louvil, angel-cordy, justawritier, and gopie. Second, it's a slightly shorter chapter than the last couple. Sorry!

-----

Connor wasn't quite sure how he ended up out back in the little courtyard with the Higher Power and a plate of reheated pizza. Cass had just swept him up in a whirlwind of talking and herded him out here. Now she was sitting beside him on the bench in front of the wishing well, munching quietly on her pizza.

She paused about halfway through her first slice and turned to look at him. "So, we got off on the wrong foot."

Connor snorted at the understatement.

"I'm sorry I didn't show up sooner," she continued, looking down at her food instead of at him. "I've had your case for a couple of weeks now, but I just never got around to popping in. God, I feel like an ass for not coming sooner. If I hadn't been dawdling, then maybe…" The Oracle trailed off, her eyes not really seeing the pizza.

Connor picked a clump of sausage off his own slice of pizza and tossed it in the well. "Maybe what?"

"Maybe I could have been there for your parents."

He felt his gut clench and surge of familiar anger well up inside of him, but he tamped it down, forcing himself to swallow his bite of pizza. The spices in the sauce burned his split lip, but he ignored that too. "There wasn't anything you could've done," he said once he was sure he could speak without losing it. He wanted to punch her, to feel her delicate jaw snap under his fist, but he was also sickened by the thought. "They were dead when I got to the house."

Cass set her plate down, the look on her face suggesting that she'd lost her appetite. "Still, I was supposed to be your guide, and I wasn't even here."

"I'm sure you had your reasons." Connor had no idea why he was feeling so sympathetic towards her. Might have something to do with the fact that she'd almost died, just a couple of hours ago. Angel nearly killed her—would have, if Cordy hadn't magically been able to heal her—for him. To protect him. All because Connor had lost his temper because of something that had very little to do with this Oracle and had picked a fight. That was enough to make him lose his appetite as well. "So what does you being my guide mean?"

"I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble," she said, "Not get you into it."

He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I was having a bad day—_I_ provoked _you_."

She looked up at him, still unsure, but managed a weak smile. "Thanks for trying, Connor. Here you are trying to comfort me, when it's you we're supposed to be focusing on. Like getting you cleared of your parents' murder."

"What?"

Standing up, she pulled a newspaper clipping out of the pocket of her khakis and held it out to him. He took it and unfolded it. 'Los Angeles Family Found Dead in Home; Son Suspected in Killings' it read. Connor suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

"It's from tomorrow's newspaper," the Oracle said, very softly. "I went by the house before I came here—you left shoeprints through the blood and your fingerprints are on the corpses."

His mind was a swirl. "I…I had to check…to see if they were alive. What about the demons? The ones I killed—didn't the cops find them?"

Cass shook her head, making her fiery curls bounce. "There wasn't any sign of demon activity in the house. Not even any strange blood. Are you sure you killed them?"

"Did you see the blood on me when you arrived?" he snapped.

"Oh-kay, point taken. Wolfram & Hart must have come through after you left and cleaned up their mess. Well, enough of it to leave the police with no better suspects than you."

She fell silent for a moment, and they both watched as ants crawled across her plate and onto the remainder of the pizza. Night in LA was never truly dark, thanks to light pollution, but he had a feeling that he still shouldn't be able to see the ants in the shadowy courtyard. Just one more quirk of his bizarre heritage, he supposed. Funny how it didn't seem like such a big deal at the moment, when earlier it was all he could think about. It seemed like his moods had been on a pendulum ever since he'd killed Sahjahn. One moment, he was his regular old self and the next, a violent beast that he only half-remembered.

Cass broke the silence first. "Step one, I guess, will be to clear your name. From there, we can figure out what else to do with your life."

"How do you plan to do that?"

She smiled, still looking down, and it wasn't a pleasant sort of smile. "I just might know a lawyer who can help us."


	16. Chapter 16: The Girl Questioned

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_ or _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer_. They belong to Joss Whedon, who is a genius.

-----

"I'm not hearing dialing."

Angel scowled at the closed office door. "I've already called Giles!" Which was true. And woken the Watcher up at some ungodly hour of the morning. Time zones always gave him a headache.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing before Giles would give him the phone number to Buffy's current residence in Rome. The old man still didn't trust him. Not that Angel really blamed him—he had, after all, sold out to Wolfram & Hart. That's what it had been, selling out. And despite him selling his soul, bargaining with the very devil himself, Cordy had still died and Connor had apparently been only temporarily patched. Not truly healed.

Connor's time in Quortoth had left a shadow on his soul. Vail's spell had lifted it for a while, but it was back now. All that unnecessary pain—Angel could see it in his son's eyes when the boy looked at him.

His hand tightened unconsciously around the phone, and the plastic creaked in protest.

But now he had to call Buffy Summers. No more stalling. He'd wake her up, of course, which would make her oh-so pleasant to deal with, but he couldn't put this off any longer.

He heard Cordelia move away from the door as he started to dial. Even the sound of her footsteps made him smile—she'd lurk to give him a kick in the pants to make the call, but she wasn't going to eavesdrop. At least not so obviously.

The phone was picked up on the fourth ring, and a sleepy voice mumbled, "Hello?" on the other end.

His stomach had decided to twist itself into a snarl of knots. It never used to do that when he was dead. "Buffy?"

"No, this's Dawn…who is this?"

"Angel."

There was some incomprehensible muttering on the Italian end of the connection and the sound of bed sheets rustling. Then Dawn shouted, "Buffy! Your evil ex is on the phone!"

"Not evil anymore," Angel muttered into the receiver, but the phone was already in the process of being passed off.

"Who is this? And do you know that I do in fact sleep with a crossbow under my bed?" Buffy for real, this time. He didn't know how he could have ever mistaken Dawn's voice for hers. The younger Summers sister hadn't haunted his dreams for years.

"It's Angel, and I'd be worried if you didn't." He tried to keep his tone light—joking even. Lorne would have been proud. The empathy demon had always been after him to try the "witty banter" thing. Thinking about Lorne only made his stomach hurt more.

"Angel." Her voice utterly emotionless. When she said his name, it was like a brick being dropped onto concrete. He wasn't quite sure what was supposed to give—the brick or the concrete. His heart or his resolve.

"Listen, Buffy, I need to talk to you. It's important."

"What could be so important that the CEO of Evil, Inc. has to call lil ole Slayer me? Don't you have, like, little evil minions to do your bidding?"

Angel winced. He'd deserved that, but he'd been hoping to avoid it. "I resigned."

"You resigned? Big corporate evil just let you empty out your desk and walk away all la-dee-da?"

"Not exactly…" He winced again. "Let's just say there was a dragon involved and leave it at that."

There was a moment of silence, and he imagined her blinking as she tried to digest what he'd just said. "'Dragon'?"

"Dragon."

"Big fire-breathing lizard thing? Ok, maybe there wasn't so much la-dee-da. But that still doesn't explain why you're calling me in the wee hours of the morning."

Angel drew a deep breath (a small part of his mind still rejoicing at the experience). "Have you had the urge to fly to LA for about, oh, the past three weeks?"

There was a brief silence followed by a quick, "No."

He didn't buy it. "Buffy, we went up against the Senior Partners when we left Wolfram & Hart. Nobody survived except Illyria."

"Who?"

"Demon god-king of the primordium…a friend."

"Angel, do we need to talk about the definition of evil and why we're not supposed to be friends with it, 'cause it sounds like you've forgotten. And what do you mean nobody survived? If nobody survived, then how can you be calling me at this ungodly hour?"

"I was getting to that. Gunn, Wes, Spike, me—we all died. Illyria's an old demon—probably the oldest I've ever met. She's a true demon, back from before the time of humans. Hell, she's older than the concepts of good and evil. She brought our bodies back, but apparently she doesn't do souls. The best she could do was set it up so a woman who each of us was attached to would come and call our souls back. I've been told it feels like a tug in the gut and kind of a flash of inspiration that you have to come to the Hyperion."

"But you're not soulless…are you?"

"Soul's intact," he promised. Maybe he shouldn't have called so late—she wasn't thinking sharp. "Cordelia gave it back to me…"

Buffy made a choking / sputtering noise, which he decided to ignore.

"I'm calling about Spike."

"Why?"

"Well, no one's shown up to awaken him yet…"

She cut him off. "And you thought I might be the woman for the job. Nuh-huh, no way I'm playing this little game again, Angel. Not only does that pasty-faced sorriest excuse for a vampire I've ever met have the nerve to tell me whether or not _I_'m in love with him, but he also doesn't have the guts to tell me when he comes back to life! No, the two of you just come sneaking around, stalking me and my boyfriend all over Rome and then go back to LA without even bothering to say 'hi, how are you doing, Buff?' That would have been the decent thing to do, but, oh no, the big bad vampires just have to slink back home!"

"Andrew wasn't supposed to tell you we dropped by," Angel muttered. "We were actually in Rome to pick up a severed head."

Buffy made a yeah-right noise into the receiver. "It's Andrew. It took me all of six minutes to figure out why he was looking so guilty when I came back from the club that night."

"I never understood why you kept him around…"

"He's fun to pet—like a cute, demented puppy—and he keeps Dawn entertained when I'm out doing Slayery-things… And this is coming from the man who's keeping company with a demon-god-king-thing!"

"Illyria can crush a BMW engine block with her fist. Andrew?"

"Screams like a girl and gets in the way," Buffy admitted. "Aren't you supposed to be convincing me to fly to LA and play Princess Charming for Spike or something?"

He plucked a pen out of the coffee cup on his desk. Slowly, the clutter that was life was finding its way back into the Hyperion. "Buffy, I know you and Spike didn't leave things in the best of places, but he's fading. Illyria doesn't know how much longer they have left. Weeks, maybe."

"'They'?"

"Wesley's still comatose." He weaved the pen through his fingers, trying to keep his voice from cracking. Wes had been with him in LA almost from the beginning. He was, Angel, knew a good man who fought the fight the best he could. Even more amazingly, Wesley was only human. He had no literal inner demons (or outer ones for that matter), no ancient mystical birthright, no superhuman abilities. He was just a disavowed Watcher and a magician of average skill. A genius, probably.

He was also the man who had taken away Connor. Which was unforgivable but not enough to condemn him. The world needed Wesley Wyndam-Pryce too much.

"I don't think he's going to wake up," Angel admitted. "All the women he was attached to are dead."

"I'm sorry."

"As much as Spike annoys me, he doesn't deserve to fade out like that. Whether you loved him or not, you were the center of his world. You can't tell me you aren't feeling some pull to come to him."

"He didn't come to me," she murmured bitterly.

"Well, he started out insubstantial when he first showed up at Wolfram & Hart. He also couldn't leave the city. Every time he tried, he got bounced back into my office—not fun, let me tell you."

"And after he became solid?"

"You'll have to ask him yourself. Why are you being so stubborn about this? An old ally needs your help. The Buffy I knew would have come running in, no hesitation."

Buffy made an unhappy noise. "I'll check the flights tomorrow morning. Good night, Angel."

A click and the sudden lack of echoing signaled that she'd hung up. "Good night, Buffy," he murmured before returning the receiver to its cradle.

-----

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this updated. I was distracted, and I really didn't want to write this conversation. I'm not a big Buffy fan (:ducks the flying produce:), and I pretty sure she doesn't sound like herself in this. Oh, well, it's the best I can do.

Thanks to YOUPIN, gopie, justawritier, --J, Louvil, angel-cordy, and Vamp Charisma for taking the time to review. It's much appreciated.


	17. Chapter 17: This Higher Power Business

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_ or the place from which I filched a character to play Cordy's mentor.

A/N: A teensy-weensy crossover here. See if you can guess where I stole Cordy's mentor from. A cookie and a mention if you guess correctly in your review.

-----

Cordelia teleported into the Hall. This was the home of the lesser Higher Powers, a demon dimension annexed by the forces of good when they ran out of office space Upstairs. It also served as a way station for the dead, where they could be categorized, sorted, and sent on their merry way.

Physically, the Hall could use some improving. Tacky white linoleum and sterile white walls broken only by white office doors stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Ick. She could understand the why behind the PTBs' white theme, but this was taking it a little too far.

Luckily, traveling in the Hall was simply a matter of picturing your destination and willing yourself there. No special powers required. It was just the nature of the place.

Pausing for a moment, Cordy first checked to make sure her skirt wasn't rumpled and then conjured up the image of room number 1481 in her mind. For a split second, the world seemed to bend in on itself, and then she was standing in front of that particular office. She wasn't sure if she had moved to the office or if the office had come to her, but in the end, did it matter?

She let herself into the office. Employees were allowed to customize their own workspaces, thank God, and the one she shared with her mentor was decked out with classy antiques and plenty of color.

Speaking of mentor, he was in-house, hunched over his computer's keyboard, prodding away at the keys with his pointer fingers. He hadn't been happy when the PTB had computerized the entire Human Resources Department back in the mid-'90s. Her mentor had died back in like World War II or something.

"Hey, Leo, how's the paperwork coming?" she asked with an annoyingly cheerful smile. Cordy pulled out her desk chair and took a seat. They'd pushed their desk together to make conversation easier.

He looked up from the monitor and glowered. "Don't ask me that."

"Sorry…but it wouldn't be me if I didn't try to get a rise out of you, now would it?" She made a pretense of straightening the mounds of paper that had built up on her desk in her absence. Her in-box had runneth over and was starting to encroach on Leo's space.

"So, how is the Angel case coming along?"

Cordy stopped pushing the papers around and sat back in her chair. "I'm confused," she admitted.

Leo rolled his chair away from the computer so he could look directly at her, giving her all of his attention. She'd lucked out when she'd been assigned to him during her training. The training had started as soon as she'd died, after her brief visit to Wolfram & Hart. Going from Evil Lawyers, Inc. to the HR Department had been uncomfortably easy. She'd known that bureaucracy had infected the side of the angels from her time as an observer before Jasmine had hijacked her body, but she hadn't realized the extent of the corporate culture until she'd asked to be transferred to HR as a Lady of White Light. The PTB had noticed how well the Wolfram & Hart company-structure was working back in the 1980s and decided to reorganize the powers of good in a similar way. It left a bad taste in Cordelia's mouth, but the decision had been made long before her time.

Leo, though, had taken some of that bad taste away.

"It's just not making sense," Cordy told him. "Illyria brings him back to life; I restore his soul; everything's peachy until this morning when Connor shows up covered in blood. I think, ok, this is going to be one of Angel's consequences for signing a deal with evil, but then another Higher Power shows up and says Connor's her case."

"Another Higher Power?"

"Another card-carrying Lady of White Light. Cass the Oracle."

Leo frowned. "I know most of the field agents, but I haven't heard that name before."

"She said she was new."

The frown deepened. "I've been working with all the newbies lately. Gabriel's been under a lot of pressure to get this department in order. We lost a lot of good people—witches, Champions, Higher Powers and the like—when Angel attacked the Circle of the Black Thorn."

Cordelia had to look away then. She hadn't told him yet just how many people his little kamikaze attack had hurt, how much devastation it had done to the city. He wasn't ready. "An impostor maybe?"

"Maybe—keep an eye on her." He leaned back in his chair and stretched. "So, how are things going with Angel?"

"Well, when I left, he was on the phone with Buffy Summers, the Slayer."

Leo winced sympathetically. "You okay with that?"

Technically, she wasn't supposed to get involved with any of her charges. The department brochure offered a hundred different logical reasons as to why not. Mostly that an intimate relationship would cloud her judgment. But Cordy had never been very good at playing by the PTB's rules. "He was calling on Spike's behalf," she murmured, pushing a paperclip around on the top of her desk. "It's Spike, which just makes it weird. I know, I know, he's a Champion and all that, but it's still not hard to think of him as the guy who kidnapped my boyfriend back in high school—which directly led to me getting a piece of rebar through my gut, I'll have you know." She let out a little bitter laugh. "I can see what you're thinking: avoidant much? No, I believe the man when he says he's in love with me. It's just…he and Buffy have all this drama between them. I'm not looking forward to her coming to LA."

"I don't blame you." He held up a stack of paperwork. "Wanna trade?"

"Oh, hell, no!" Cordy answered with a laugh. She pushed the chair back and rose, stretching. "I'd better get back to the hotel and break up the inevitable brood-fest."

Leo got up to see her to the door, pausing with it half open. Cordelia looked up at him expectantly. "Hey, if it gets to be too much for you, don't hesitate to call for me."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks for the offer, Leo, but if _I_ can't handle Angel, then nobody can."


	18. Chapter 18: I Know the Break Down

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_. It belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

A/N: **I posted chapters 17 and 18 at the same time. Don't miss chapter 17!** Thanks to fionnin, Blondi-Finny, angel-cordy, justawritier, --J, gopie, and YOUPIN for your reviews.

-----

"Gwen…" Gunn mumbled into the pillow. It was too damn early to be up, but Lil Miss Electricity was already out of bed and fussing with her hair.

"Hm?"

He could hear her hairspray going. All those loose curls took a crazy amount of work. The hairspray made them crunch when he ran his hands through them. He took a perverse pleasure in messing them up after she spent so much time on them. With a grunt, Gunn rolled onto his back so he could look at her. "Babe, you're wearing leather again."

She made another noncommittal noise and wrapped a blond strand around the fat barrel of the curling iron.

"You told me you only wear leather when you've got a job."

"Or when I'm going out," Gwen corrected. She pulled the iron free, and the curl bounced. His fingers itched to play with it now, before she shellacked it into submission.

"We going out today?"

"I'm meeting with a client."

"What's it going to be this time? Jewelry? Mystical artifact? Some high-tech gadget about to be sold at the lowest bid?" He'd meant that to be teasing, but it came out wrong, and his hands dug into the undersides of the pillows mounded around him in frustration.

Gwen pivoted to face him, one eyebrow crooking up like a mocking question mark. "You sound like you've got a problem with my career choice, Denzel."

"I just don't get why you gotta keep stealing—I mean, look at this place!" He gestured around at the luxurious furnishings of her safe house. Unlike the rest of the building—which looked like it was going to fall down around their ears if someone so much as sneezed—Gwen's little hideaway looked like something out of a James Bond movie with dark red paneling made of actual wood (not that particle board stuff) and tons of vases identified by the dynasty. Took some getting used to, staying here. He'd spent the first couple of nights scared he was going to knock over one of her knickknacks and break it.

Still, it was an awesome place to crash. Big screen TV, surround sound, X-Box. She'd whooped his ass at _Halo 2_. They'd moved over here to get some privacy. The Hyperion was nice…hell, it'd been his home for several years, but there just seemed to be too many people there for his tastes, lately.

"It's not about the money, Charles," she said, tilting her head to the side to pull the curling iron free of her hair. One perfectly curled lock bounced like a sprung spring.

"Then what is it about?"

She turned her back on him. "It's about proving to them that they can't keep their little trinkets safe from a freak."

"You're not a freak," Gunn muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Gwen snorted. "Not a freak? What else would you call me being hit by lightning fourteen times?" She grabbed the LISA case off the vanity counter and pitched it at him. It bounced off his arm and disappeared into the mound of bedclothes. "What else would you call me not being able to have sex or, hell, even touch someone unless I have that _machine_ imbedded in my skin? I think that's pretty freakish!"

He'd hit a button. Somehow, they'd managed to go almost a month without hitting any of their particularly sensitive topics. She didn't ask about what he'd been doing for the past year, and he kept to safe subjects like movies and video games and sex. It'd been fun, but he'd known from day one that this affair wasn't going to last. Now, as he forced himself to sit up, the sheet pooling around his waist, he wished it was going to end on a slightly less angry note.

"I've never thought of you as a freak."

She gave him a look that clearly said she didn't believe him. "Oh, really—not even the first time we met in the auction house? When I killed you with my freak powers?"

"Babe, you have to remember who I was runnin' with at the time: a vamp and a girl who'd spent five years in a demon dimension. Electro-zappy powers pretty much fit right in with my life."

Gwen yanked the curling iron's plug out of the wall and stormed off into one of her walk-in closets. The girl had more clothes than Cordelia. "That doesn't mean anything, except that you've got a fondness for freaks," she snapped as she came back out, a red leather bomber jacket in the crook of her arm.

Gunn grabbed her arm (careful to touch only where it was covered by her gloves) as she tried to brush by the bed. "Hey," he said, trying to catch her eyes, "I can understand wantin' to stick it to the Man, but don't you think you're taking it a bit far?"

"You're not my boyfriend, Gunn," she snarled as she wrenched her arm out of his grasp. "Don't try and tell me what to do."


	19. Chapter 19: Fish Metaphors

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_ or _Charmed_. Shamu is property of Sea World and Busch Gardens.

-----

Connor yawned and felt his jaw pop in response. After all the excitement of the day before, he'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he'd been out before his head had hit the pillow. Maybe it was something about the hotel. This was where he'd lived for the first couple weeks of his life—he felt safe here despite the fact that he could still see the remains of the portal spell his father had drawn on the floor in an attempt to find him after he'd been taken to Quortoth. He dragged his hand along the wall as he bounded down the steps, the antique wallpaper feeling thin and flaky.

His Higher Power was already awake and sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the lobby, her butt resting on part of the half-erased spell. A 16-inch TV was sitting in front of her, tuned to CNN, and a bowl of half-eaten cereal rested beside her knee, the Cheerios quickly going soggy as she scanned the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. "It's almost noon," she said to him as he came up behind her. "You slept way late."

"So, am I a wanted man?" he asked as he settled down next to and a little behind her and folded his legs in front of him. The doors to the inner courtyard were open, allowing some fresh air into the Hyperion before the day got unbearably hot. It had to be ninety degrees already—sweat was slowly trickling down his bare back and even the light-weight cotton of his pajama pants felt too heavy for LA in June.

"You just missed it," she said, pointing absently to the news ticker. "The headlines in the newspaper match the article I was given too. I wouldn't recommend going outside today."

"Did you get a chance to talk to that lawyer?"

Cass snorted. "No, he was a little busy planning a prison riot."

"The lawyer you were planning on going to for legal aid is in jail?" Connor asked, disbelief coloring his voice. Not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, he wondered if his heavenly guide was completely competent…or sane.

The Oracle turned to look back at him as the news switched over to tracking Tropical Storm Alberto. "He's in there voluntarily."

"You mean he turned himself in?"

Her forehead wrinkled. "Well, no…but he's still a good lawyer, law-wise. It's the ethics thing we need to work on. Anyway, it's a moot point since he's going to be very busy for the next couple of days." She forced a weak smile that didn't quite hide the worry in her green eyes. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine—I'm not the one who ended up with a lamp sticking out of my back last night. If your lawyer friend is going to be tied up for a while, then what are we going to do about me? It's not going to take them long to trace me back here." It was something he'd thought about at the movies the night before. The real life connection between him and Angel was slender—Connor and his parents had just been one-time clients—which would be fine if it were just the human authorities after him. Unfortunately, Wolfram & Hart was in the game too, and they knew just what his true relation to Angel was. It wouldn't take much effort for them to tip off the cops. _And this is going to be the first place they look for my dad_, he thought, looking around the lobby of the Hyperion. Maybe coming back here hadn't been the brightest move on his dad's part. _Though, after a couple hundred years, you probably start to get nostalgic_.

The door to the office banged open, and Angel came storming out. "…call a cab to take me to the airport to meet them," he was saying over his shoulder. He paused, though, at the sight of Cass sitting on the floor. "What's she still doing here?"

"'Morning to you too," the Oracle said without tearing her eyes away from CNN. "And, if you want to get technical, I left and came back."

"She's my Higher Power, Dad," Connor added defensively, "I imagine that means we're going to be seeing a lot of her."

Angel didn't say anything, but he didn't have to—the disapproving look on his face pretty much said it all.

"…makes no sense taking a cab to the airport just to take one back." Cordy emerged from the office as well, stopping by the desk and folding her arms over her stomach. In deference to the heat, she was wearing a floaty dark purple skirt and plain white sleeveless shirt. "Is something wrong with the air conditioning?"

"It was off when I got back," Cass answered, ignoring the glare Angel was giving her. "What's wrong?"

Cordy waved the question off. "Nothing—nothing's wrong except it's like a million degrees in here." She crossed to the courtyard doors and slammed them closed, her heels clicking on the marble floor. "Los Angeles in the summer, people—windows stay shut or we're all going to roast to death. Either that or choke on the smog."

"Buffy and Dawn are flying in this afternoon," Angel said quietly to Connor.

The first name sounded familiar to part of him, the second didn't. Juggling two sets of memories was getting old. There was so much stuff he felt that he should know, but it escaped him. "The Slayer?"

"She and her little sister are coming all the way from Rome to help with Spike," Angel explained quickly before Cordy could answer for him. "Have you seen Illyria? Either of you?"

Cass pointed over her shoulder in the general direction of the staircase as Cordy answered, "Third floor hallway."

Angel looked from one Higher Power to the other. "Are you reading each other's minds?"

Cordy shook her head as the Oracle went back to focusing on the news. "Illyria leaves a pretty big energy signature wherever she goes, and we can both sense it."

"How big an energy signature?" his father asked.

"Well, if you and I were both…tuna, then she'd be Shamu." Cordelia shrugged. "They don't make demons like her anymore."

Angel's heavy brow wrinkled in confusion. "Shamu?"

"Big whale… Sea World mascot…" Connor explained.

The former vampire still looked confused.

"Sea World's a big theme park, like Disneyland. Come on, Dad, get with the 21st century." He couldn't help but smile.

"Did you ever go?" Angel asked.

He nodded. "Mom and Dad took me and Rachel to the one in San Diego when I was fourteen…" But had they really? His mom had kept a picture of the four of them outside the whale show arena taped to the fridge back home—Rachel had been going through her 'I want to be a marine biologist' phase. But he'd spent his fourteenth year in Quortoth. That was the year his father—Holtz—had allowed him to hunt alone for food and to clear the area near their small home of dangerous predators. How many people had really posed for that picture when the park employee took it? Three or four?

Connor smacked a hand to his forehead, trying to joggle his memories into some kind of sense. Everything was over-lapping, contradicting, making it hard to figure out what was real except what was happening _right_ now. The Hyperion had to be real…so did Cass and the TV and Cordy and his father and the bowl of mushy cereal. All of that had to be real; because if it wasn't, he was going to crack.

He slide down the front of the reception desk until he was seated on the cool marble next to the Oracle's little television. Angel smiled and ruffled his hair as Cordy gave him a curious look as the two of them continued on out the front door, resuming their argument right where they'd left off.

Cass looked up from CNN as soon as she heard the front door shut behind them. Locking eyes with him over the top of the television, she said very simply, "Your dad isn't human."

"What do you mean? Of course he's human—what else could he be?" Connor shot back.

She shrugged. "I dunno; I just know he's not human. To borrow Cordy's metaphor, if she and I are tunas…tunae…whatever, then he should be an anchovy or something little like that on the power scale. But, he's not—he's a tuna too, just like you and me." She paused and cocked her head to the side. "These fish metaphors are getting a bit ridiculous."

"You could say that."

"I just did."

"Point taken. So what do we do then?"

The Oracle picked up her bowl and stirred the Cheerios aimlessly. "About Angel? Nothing unless you think he's an imposter or something."

Connor shook his head. "Oh, no, that's Angel all right. Only a two hundred or so year old ex-vampire could not know who Shamu is."

"I think we've got bigger things to worry about right now." She thumbed the TV off and stood up, stretching her free arm far back over her shoulder.

"Like me being wanted by the police," he murmured.

"And us being sitting ducks with Illyria and so many…ok, I'll use the fish metaphor one more time. With so many tuna in the same place at the same time, particularly since the entire world knows Angel used to live here. It's time to move, Connor."

-----

A/N: Big thank you to YOUPIN, gopie, Polaris, jka1, and –J for the reviews. :hands –J the cookie for a correct answer:

I don't know when this flurry of updates will stop. I have 12 hours of driving tonight, and it's a round trip, not 12 hours to get to a certain destination. I don't know which is worse…probably the round trip, since I get to see all the scenery (what can be seen in the dark) twice in one day.


	20. Chapter 20: A Great Force For

Disclaimer: I don't own _Angel_. The world would be a lot scarier place if I did.

A/N: Thanks to YOUPIN, jka1, fionnin, Louvil, and Vamp Charisma for the lovely comments. Sorry this took a hell of a long time to update.

-----

It had to be a physical attraction, like magnetics or something. There was no other way Cordelia Chase could explain how she and Angel kept ending up in the classic cars section of the huge car lot. The man was pining for his Plymouth, she decided, as she watched him running a hand lovingly over the hood of a '69 Mach I Mustang.

"I'm thinking something more along the lines of a minivan," she said as glanced across the lot. So far, they'd managed to avoid car salesmen attention, but it was only a matter of time before one of them swooped down on them like a hawk after field mice. This lot was big enough that they did their swooping on golf carts. It was hard to be stealthy on a golf cart, but Cordy was sure a salesman could manage it. "Plenty of room; uses less gas. Plus, it screams 'Mom Mobile'—what better disguise for us?"

Angel sighed and gave the Mustang a last, wistful look. "I think we should get a dog," he announced as they wound their way back over to the more family-oriented vehicles. Or detective agency-oriented vehicles. Or whatever the hell they were these days. "Don't most couples get a dog?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Yeah—as a precursor to having kids."

He stopped, stepping out in front of her to block her path between the cars. Reaching down, he took her hands from where they hung by her sides and squeezed them with his own. "So let's get a dog," he repeated, his dark eyes searching hers.

Cordy felt her breath catch in her chest. "Is this your indirect way of telling me you want kids?"

Angel leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, sending that little thrill through her that his kisses always did, but that wasn't the only thing twisting her stomach into knots. _Children_. As a little girl, she'd wanted kids. Two daughters: Rose and Claire. Their father would be as blond and handsome (and bland) as a Ken doll, and they'd live in a generously proportioned brick two-story with ivy climbing up the outside walls. As she got older, her dreams had changed. The wish to be a mother had faded as her interest in guys increased. The Ken doll had evolved into a dark, fabulously rich stud who was more interested in making love than having children.

It hadn't been until she held an infant Connor in her arms that she felt that maternal stirring again. He'd been so small and helpless, his smell sweet and powdery. She would have done anything for that baby. Now, he was an adult—one she knew both disgustingly intimate knowledge and absolutely nothing about. What she wouldn't give to have that little baby back.

She broke the kiss, moving her mouth just far enough away from his to talk. "I…it's not so simple," she confessed. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his long-still heart just beneath the surface of his skin. "I'm dead, remember? And you're…you're not exactly human."

Storm clouds rolled into his eyes as his brow settled back into the 'furrowed' position. "What're you talking about? Of course, I'm human—it's the Shanshu!"

Her chest tight like she was going to cry, Cordelia shook her head. She swallowed. "Angel, it's not. It was supposed to be, but something got mixed up. You didn't come back right."

He backed away from her, bumping up against the side of an SUV. "What'd you mean? Didn't come back right? I'm fine! Look—it's me out in the sun and not frying! My heart's beating. What's wrong with this?"

"Angel," she said quietly, leaning her back against a red Explorer, "You can hear my heart beating, can't you? From all the way over there."

The grim look that fell across his face told her that, yes, indeed he could.

"Walk me through those last few hours—did you do something to increase your strength for the fight with Wolfram & Hart? Was there a spell? Was there anything that could have made you not-quite vampire?"

Angel rubbed a hand over his face wearily. "No spells—hell, I sent Wes to assassinate my best sorcerer. Why would I trust any spells? No, it was a very mundane day for me up until the point where Hamilton and I started trashing the office: wake up, have a cup of blood…" His face froze, mouth open. "Blood."

"Blood?"

He swallowed. "During the fight with Hamilton…I was losing. I'd been thrown through walls and windows and beaten to a pulp, and he was hardly even scratched. He was taunting me—telling me how he had the power of Wolfram & Hart in his veins. I told him it was the wrong thing to say to a vampire."

"You bit him." He nodded. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. The big…dumb lug had managed to drink a whopping dose of pure evil right before receiving his grand reward from the Powers That Be. No wonder he was still registering as a supernatural power while her bosses were scratching their heads. She ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back so tight that she could feel the skin of her face stretch. Of all the stupid, moronic… She laughed. She couldn't help it. Only Angel could get himself into a predicament like this. Only Angel. "Congratulations," she said when she finally felt capable of forming full, coherent sentences, "You successfully made yourself into a great force for evil."


	21. Chapter 21: The Immortal

Disclaimer: _Angel_ isn't mine. It belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon. I'm just playing with the characters for a bit.

A/N: Here I am, supposed to be packing to move (again), and instead I'm writing another chapter for this monstrosity. Gah! Anyway, big thanks to YOUPIN, a.a.k.88, --J, kwangmablade, Childe of the Daywalker, your local dealer, angel-cordy, and Polia for dropping comments.

-----

"_I will need the help of a she-creature. One with whom this mortal shared an emotional bond, the kind involved in mating. She will be the life-bringer to lure back the soul. I can restore the shell to functionality, but recalling the soul is beyond even my power. Odd, that a mortal will be able to do it."_

--Illyria, chapter 2

-----

Jetlag was hell, Dawn Summers decided as she pulled her bag off the luggage carousel. There had to be a literal hell somewhere that consisted of nothing more than planes flying you across ten time zones and back again. Her brain really, really wanted to do the sleep-thing, but the LA sun was obnoxiously up and _bright_.

Annoyingly, Buffy didn't seem to be bothered by the time change. Her face was set into the same grim expression it'd been in since Angel had called. She hadn't even slept on the plane—just sat, drumming her fingers on the armrests of the seat. All of Dawn's attempts to start a conversation had been rebuffed, so she'd finally given up and stuck to her books. She had a couple on loan from the Watchers' library that she needed to finish. Giles had also instructed her to take detailed notes on everything she observed while in Los Angeles. He wanted to know everything that was going on with Angel and Spike and this Old One, Illyria, that Angel had mentioned on the phone. Personally, Dawn was feeling a little geeked at the chance to meet an Old One and not risk being squashed like a bug. And seeing Angel and Spike and Wesley again was cool too, even if two of the three were currently comatose and soulless. Oh, well—that's what they'd flown halfway around the world to fix, right?

There was just one little problem with this plan, as far as Dawn could see: Buffy had brought her boyfriend. "Couldn't you have made him stay in Rome?" Dawn hissed as she hitched her carryon farther up her shoulder.

Buffy glared at her. "He insisted on coming."

"Since when does that mean anything? You're the Slayer! If you don't want someone to come on a trip with you, then they don't come."

"Being the Slayer isn't being God, Dawn, and did you stop and think that maybe I want my boyfriend here to support me?"

"What am I? Chopped liver? And, besides, who do you need support against?"

"Hmm, let me think. Oh, maybe my evil ex and the new love of his life. Oh, and wait, what about the man who told me I didn't love him?"

Dawn gave her a look that she hoped conveyed how completely and totally stupid Buffy was being. Her sister ignored her, instead turning to give the Immortal a kiss on the cheek as he came up with the rest of their baggage on a little rolling cart thing.

"Do I need to summon a taxi?" he asked.

"No, Angel said he'd pick us up at the airport," Dawn said, heading for the doors.

Buffy hurried up beside her. "You talked to him?"

"Well, yeah—to tell him when our plane was coming in. I told him we'd just take a taxi to where he's staying, but he insisted on coming to get us." She stepped through the automatic doors and was hit by a blast of oppressively hot, exhaust-filled air.

"And here I'd forgotten all about the lovely California weather," Buffy muttered. "Well, what's he driving these days?"

Dawn lifted a hand to shield her eyes as she scanned the cars idling in the passenger pick-up area. Honestly, she'd forgotten to ask when she'd called…and surely that couldn't be him in the Notre Dame shirt, standing in direct sunlight in front of a beige minivan. Right? Because the Angel who'd dated Buffy had skulked in dark alleys and drove a black Plymouth (convertible because, deep down, they all knew he was slightly suicidal).

But the man in front of the van raised his hand in greeting, and she headed over. Human-Angel didn't look much different from vampire-Angel. Sure, he wasn't wearing black—the college t-shirt, jeans that reminded Dawn just what Buffy had seen in him originally, and a pair of white tennis shoes—but his hair still stuck up funny. It wouldn't be Angel, she decided as she let him hug her, if his hair wasn't gelled and spiky. Still, the body heat and the breathing thing were a bit disconcerting.

"You…you look great, Dawn," he said as he let her loose.

"And you look _normal_," she said, taking a step back and readjusting the strap on her shoulder. "Tell me this isn't your van." But he wasn't listening—his attention was focused on something behind her. Buffy, of course. She glanced back and saw her sister walking over, hand-in-hand with the Immortal.

"Buffy. Immortal," the former vampire greeted them flatly.

"Angel." Buffy's tone was equally pancake.

"Angel!" the Immortal obviously didn't understand the awkwardness of the situation.

"I take it you two know each other?" Dawn ventured, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

"We've met," Angel said as he took her bags from her and opened the side door of the van. "I didn't think you left Rome."

"Normally, no," the Immortal replied, "But I couldn't just let my _pulchra femina_ travel all the way to the City of Angels without someone to keep her company."

"Funny, I thought that was Dawn's job."

Buffy was glaring stakes at him. Dawn just rolled her eyes and climbed into the van. Cordelia Chase was already seated on the middle bench, right behind the driver's seat. She nodded to her as she settled on the back bench next a good-looking black guy. "Hi," she greeted him, holding out her hand, "I'm Dawn."

"Charles Gunn," he introduced himself, giving her hand a good squeeze.

"You're a friend of Angel's?"

"We work together, usually." That didn't quite answer her question, but she had a feeling she'd stumbled upon a _major_ sore spot. "You're the Slayer's sister?"

Dawn rolled her eyes again. "Unfortunately."

Cordelia leaned over the back of her seat and whispered, "So who's Mr. Hottie-pants glued to your sister's hip?"

"The Immortal," Dawn whispered back. "He's a real big deal back in Rome—everybody loves him."

"Except you?"

"He and Buffy had sex on my bed." Gunn made a weird snorting noise that might have been a disguised laugh, and Cordelia was smiling as she turned back around. "It's not funny! I have to sleep there."

-----

Hearing that Buffy was dating the Immortal was bad enough, Angel decided, but actually seeing them being a cooing, lovey-dovey couple made him want to gag. She's was putting on an act, he could tell. He could always tell with her.

She looked good though. Her hair was starting to get long again, and she was dressed in what he guessed was the height of Italian fashion, looking every inch a sophisticated European woman. Just looking at her made his heart ache a little for the guileless Sunnydale girl.

Then, Cordelia climbed out of the van and put her hand on his arm. "Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot—Cordy, this is the Immortal." She reached out her other hand to him, but instead of shaking it the Immortal (the sleaze) raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. For half a second, Angel was afraid she'd giggle or do something else to show that he'd managed to charm her with that little move, but Cordy just regarded him with the same cool detachment as before. It made him a little giddy. "This is Cordelia Chase, my girlfriend." Even as he said it, 'girlfriend' sounded like too weak a word for what he felt for her. "My love," he amended.

"Your…love," Buffy repeated flatly as Cordy looked over at him quizzically.

"My love," he repeated. Still not quite right, but closer. The four of them stood there for an awkward moment, looking at each other as if not quite sure what they were supposed to say. Angel clapped his hands together. "Well, as much fun as this is, why don't we head back to the Hyperion and see if Buffy can wake Spike up?"

The planned seating arrangement had put Buffy in the passenger seat with Cordy behind him, but since the Slayer had decided to bring the Immortal with her, they got the middle bench instead, and Cordy took shotgun. Why Gunn had come along, Angel still wasn't sure—the man had shown up at the hotel that morning looking alternately pissed off and glum. Angel had asked what was up and where Gwen was, but both those questions had only earned him dirty looks. He'd sulked in the backseat the whole way to the airport, not even cracking a single soccer mom joke when he first laid eyes on the van. At least now, Angel saw in the rearview mirror, he was pretending to smile as he chatted with Dawn.

Thanks to LA rush hour traffic, the sun was setting by the time they got back to the Hyperion. The lobby was dark, though, as they entered. "Connor?" he called. "We're back. Connor?" No answer. Angel took a step forward and stumbled over something. Looking down, he found a small cardboard had been left on the top step. It was addressed to him, care of Wolfram & Hart.

"What's that?" Cordy asked as she peered over his shoulder.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's got the stink of Wolfram & Hart all over it."

"Don't open it," Gunn recommended. "We don't want none of the crap here anymore."

Angel turned the package over in his hands. The return address was written on the underside in a familiar feminine scrawl. "That's Fred's handwriting," he murmured, "And it came from her department at Wolfram & Hart."

"Let me see that." Cordy grabbed it out of his hands. "I don't sense anything evil coming from it," she said after a moment's investigation. "And it doesn't make noise when you shake it." She handed it back to Angel.

"I vote you open it." Everyone turned to stare at Dawn. "What? You're not going to find anything out unless you do."

"Girl has a point," Gunn added.

Taking a deep breath, Angel slid a finger under the edge of the brown parcel paper, breaking the seal. The paper covered a shoe box, and when he pulled it out, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Cordy bent to pick it up. "It's addressed to you," she said, handing it up to him, "And it's in Fred's handwriting."

_Angel_

_I'm dying. You guys can tell me different all you like, but I'm not stupid. This _thing_ that's infected me is hollowing me out, sucking me out of my own body like you'd suck the good parts of a crawfish out of the shell. I told Charles once that I'd never be a shell—not for anybody—and I meant it. _

_I think I've figured it out. How to stay, even if you can't find a way to save me. 'Course this letter's going to seem really silly when you do find a way and I'm alive and stuff and they still give this to you. If that's the case, then just shred this and tease me about it the next time you see me. But if it's not the case, then what I've enclosed in the package should help you bring me back._

_Oh, and tell Wesley I'm sorry I ruined his dinner plans._

_Love,_

_Fred_

Angel swallowed and handed the letter to Cordy so she could read. They hadn't been able to save Fred. All her trust in them had been misplaced. They had found a way to stop Illyria before she completely burned away everything that had been Fred, but it had come down to letting Fred die or killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people. He'd made the call, and he still didn't know if it was the right one.

Silently, he opened the shoe box and looked at what she thought would save her. Lying in the box on a bed of packing peanuts was a ratty white stuffed rabbit with a pair of black spectacles perched on his nose. Confused, Angel lifted out of the box.

"Hey!" Gunn exclaimed, "That's Feigenbaum!"


End file.
